Living Justice
by dramaq
Summary: MxM  No matter how many times Mello abandons him, ignores him, breaks him, Matt can't help but desperately, hopelessly love him.  Even in those sparse moments when Matt can see this love reciprocated, Mello always turns away...
1. Chapter 1

**AN: And now for the fic that has been promised for like a month! :) I was originally going to wait to post this until Interrogation was over... but... It was reported and deleted! Damn fanfiction Nazis! Anyways, this is a MelloxMatt fic, so they'll be yaoi, but no lemons. It will eventually be AU, but is pretty cannon. For clarification purposes, the italics indicate flashbacks. Please read and review! And review my new fic I wrote on Misa... wah no one reviewed! :'( So, that will be all! Enjoy!**

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It was a day just like any other in my purposeless, painfully monotonous life. I slapped at my alarm clock when it extracted me from my dreamless slumber. I cracked open my eyes, heavy from long hours of gaming the previous night, and attempted to avert my gaze from the empty bed across the room- the bed that had _been_ empty for three years. I suppressed a forlorn sigh as my bare feet silently met the carpet.

How...dull. Years ago, my life was never dull. And years ago, today wouldn't have been just another day. February first. Today was my seventeenth birthday. Back then, I never would have awoken alone...

_Eight-year-old Matt jolted out of his sleep, instantaneously wincing as a loud high pitched voice reverberated through his sleepy mind._

_ "MATT! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" The screaming cherubic blonde donned a mischievous grin as he hopped onto his best friend's bed. The overwhelmed red head scrambled into a sitting position as his bed was mercilessly jostled by the jumping blonde firecracker._

_ "Mello?" Matt rasped. "Mello? What are you doing? It's too early to be this energetic, even for you."_

_ Mello plopped down to face his friend, a wide grin stretched across his face. "But this isn't just any day, Matt! Today's your special day!"_

_ "I have a special day?"_

_ Mello's grin faltered. "Don't you remember? It's your birthday!"_

_ "So?"_

_ "SO?!" The small boy waved his arms in exasperation. "It's your _birthday_! The next important day to Christmas!"_

_ "I didn't celebrate my birthday with my parents. Not Christmas either."_

_ Mello's shocked expression soon morphed into an impish grin. "Well, we'll have to change that, won't we?"_

_ Before Matt could ask how he planned to do this, he was thwacked in the back of the head with a pillow._

_ "M-Mello?"_

_ The blonde made a sound suspiciously close to a squeal and dove to his side of the room, stealing himself for Matt's retaliation. A dazzling smile broke across the young gamer's face as he eagerly pulled his goggles over his eyes._

_ Soon, white balls of fluff were whistling though the air, chairs and other obstructions were knocked over, and blankets were haphazardly flung about._

_ The boys lay panting, side by side in the midst of their joyous destruction. Matt turned to face Mello. The boy's cheeks were flushed from exertion and his eyes were shining. "Thank you, Mello."_

_ "Happy birthday, Matt."_

I pulled on clothes, brushed my teeth and wandered back to my bead. I tucked in the blankets and straightened my pillow. The bed looked... nice. Everything in it's place, nothing to disturb it... nice. I pocketed my DS and darted out the door. Being in my room- _our_ room without a single gaming device on wasn't one of my favorite past times.

I made my way to the dining hall. Just like any other day, the orphan's rambunctious chatter sizzled down to a light murmur as I came into view. They parted like the Red Sea. Even the children who had arrived in the past three years seemed to sense that I was to be given at least a three foot radius. Sideward glances, and anxious looks... they looked at me as if I was going to break down at any moment. True, I _had_ had a life threatening breakdown- I didn't eat for two weeks, and after that needed to be force fed, and I was catatonic and suicidal- but that was years ago!

Nevertheless, I didn't mind that they all kept their distance. I had never been sociable, and other people tended to make me uncomfortable. Besides, I honestly wasn't sure what would happen if someone managed to say the wrong thing...

"Matt?" A gentle voice chimed. I looked down to see Linda, the one girl who hadn't severed all communication with me. Funny, I hadn't noticed her walk up to me.

"Yes?"

"I, uh, well... I know it's your birthday and all... so... uh... happy birthday, Matt! Seventeen, right?" She gave me a warm smile.

"That's right. Thank you, Linda." I took another step.

"Wait!" I turned back to face her. " I have something for you! Did you think I forgot? I always get you a present! Here," She pulled a previously obscured item from behind her back. "Happy birthday, Matt. I hope you like it... I worked really hard..."

I looked down at Linda's gift. It was a painting- no, that didn't do it justice- It was a masterpiece. Truly, it was one of her finest pieces. She had improved a great deal since last year. The painting depicted me... and nothing else. There I was with my goggles implanted on my face and a blank, oddly serene expression. The background was a swirl of colors, mixed together expertly so that each color both blended and contrasted with the next. It was... nice.

I glanced at her hopeful expression. She probably thought she was being a wonderful person. Only a good natured, kind, _kind_ person would risk talking to _me_. But in her eyes... I saw pity. Demeaning, week, little pity... and that hurt more than silence.

"Thank you, Linda. I like it."

_"MA-ATT" A small ten year old peered up from his gameboy as an overly cheerful bubbly blonde skipped up to him._

_"Oh. Hi Linda," Matt replied, slightly uncomfortable by the girl's close proximity. Thankfully, the blonde boy by his side seemed to sense his friend's unease, and came to his rescue._

_ "Back off, Linda!" Mello grabbed her roughly by the arm and shoved her to the side. He pretended to ignore the grateful grin that was sent his way by his socially awkward best friend._

_ "Hey! Mello, I wasn't talking to _you_! It's Matt's birthday!"_

_ "What's it to ya?" Mello stepped protectively in front of his friend._

_ "I just wanted to say happy birthday!" She pouted._

_ "Uh... thanks, Linda," Matt responded, furtively eyeing his surroundings for means of escape._

_ "And don't think I forgot your present! Here!" The small girl reached past the fuming chocoholic to give her gift straight to Matt. "Hope you like it!" She tossed a smile over her shoulder and hurried off, happy to have kept up her tradition of making everyone at the orphanage a present for their birthday. Both boys visibly relaxed, grateful for the absence of unwanted company._

_ "You gonna open it?" Mello inquired._

_ His companion chuckled. "What? You aren't going to try to take it from me like last year?"_

_ "She's not your friend. She has no right to give you presents..." Mello grumbled, half to himself._

_ "Don't worry. I'm sure it will be nothing compared to your gift." Matt soothed, calming his friend's unspoken insecurities. The other boy gave a curt nod, blonde strands flitting into his face at the sharp movement. Matt smiled to himself, proud for once again successfully reading and calming the temperamental child. Without a word, he unceremoniously tore into the wrapping paper. When he saw Linda's latest work, he couldn't contain the wide grin that implanted itself on his face._

_ "What? What is it?" The impatient boy was eager to discern the reason for the distinctive twinkle in his friend's eye._

_ "Look." The smiling red head revealed the picture to his friend. Matt thoroughly enjoyed watching the emotions of glee, reminiscence, indignation, anger, and finally happiness flit across the other boy's face as he took in the picture. The beautiful, sentimental picture Linda had drawn. _

_ It depicted two frail boys, one's face framed by shoulder length, golden tresses, and the other's face adorned by a pair of orange goggles. Both boy's eyes were forced into slits from the obtrusive smiles that covered their faces. Side by side, the boys sat on a swing meant for one. _

_ Matt was not as put off as Mello by the fact that their classmate had clearly been watching them as they played in the seemingly empty playground last Tuesday. In fact, he felt a strange sort of relief that such a memory was in a tangible form. Scrawled at the bottom read: 'Happy birthday, Matt! I hope you and Mello have a happy year!' Even on his birthday, he was lumped with his demanding best friend. But as the gamer studied the joyous expressions of the two friends on his picture, he found that he didn't mind at all._

"I'm glad you like it, Matt! So I'll, uh, see you around, okay?"

"Sure." Linda gave me a small, sad smile before sauntering off. I looked down at the painting one last time. Poor, little, Matt, all alone in a swirling disarray of colors. Linda's thoughts and emotions always leaked through her art. I carefully slipped the painting into my backpack- the only gift I would be receiving this year without a doubt. I continued my daily trip to breakfast, struggling to keep my mind from drifting to the presents I used to get... one from L and one from _him_.

I came to a dead stop in the middle of the hallway. No. No, I was not going to think about _him_. I've gotten past that. Yes, I decided as I selected a plate and began shoveling random food onto it, I was past thinking of _him_. All that was left in my mind was my instincts, my natural intelligence, my routines, and my games.

I was about to exit the buffet line when one final dish caught my eye. A lone chocolate cake rested on the edge of the table. The knife beside it reflected the harsh florescent lighting like a cruel omen. It was clean, without blemish, without a single lingering crumb of cake. Unused. For really, who would want a slice of chocolate cake for breakfast?

_"Mello," Eleven-year-old Matt was trying in vain to gain his best friend's attention._

_ "You're going to LOVE your present this year, Matt!"_

_ "Mello," the remarkably patient youngster tried once more._

_ "But I won't tell you yet!_

_ "Mello, I-"_

_ "Nope!" The oblivious blonde continued. "Because it's a secret! And you're going to go insane all day wondering, won't you?_

_ "Mels, listen, I-"_

_ "But it will be worth it! It's gonna blow your mind, Matt!"_

_"MELLO!"_

_The rambling one jumped and whipped around to face his friend. "Jesus, Matt! You almost gave me a heart attack! Give me some warning before you yell in my ear!"_

_ "Sorry, Mello."_

_ "Good."_

_ The two continued down the hallway towards breakfast, the newly dubbed eleven-year-old trailing behind the blonde like a kicked puppy._

_ "God, Matt! What is it?"_

_ "What? I said I was sorry..."_

_ "I don't care! Just... why are you being all miserable? It's your birthday! Why aren't you happy?" The agitated tween snapped, artfully masking his concern with jaded words._

_ Matt picked up a plate tentatively. "It's just, maybe... I could ask you a favor?"_

_Mello shot an easy grin back at the young gamer. "That's all? What do you want me to do?"_

_ "Um, you might not like it..."_

_ "Matty! Your my best friend! Just tell me." The boy's blue eyes sparkled as he noticed a big chocolate cake perched on the end of the table. He reached out eagerly and-_

_ "WAIT!"_

_ "Ah!" The blonde shot a glare over his shoulder. "What _is_ it already, Matt?"_

_ "Uh, do you, uh, think maybe, just this once-"_

_ "Matt," the boy rested a pale hand on his friend's shoulder, "I won't get mad, okay? I promise."_

_ Reassured, the younger boy began his speech with vigor. "Last week in AP Anatomy, we were examining the causes of early death in England. And Dr. Mayer said that one of the main ones was diabetes. And-and then he yelled at Polly for eating her licorice! She _always_ eats licorice! And he said if she continued to eat that much she would die before she graduated! I think he may have been exaggerating, but- but _you_ eat more chocolate than Polly eats licorice." Matt clamped his mouth shut, shrinking back from the piercing steal sheen in his friend's eyes._

_ "So," the chocoholic's voice was low and dangerous, "you want me to give up chocolate."_

_ "Oh, no no no!" The gamer wagged his head, red hair slapping against his goggles. "Just, just eat a little less! At least don't eat chocolate for breakfast."_

_ "Matt, there is no way-"_

_ "At least not on my birthday!"_

_ The frail boy ran his hands through his baby-fine blonde hair, already edgy from chocolate withdrawal. He looked at his friend- saucer-wide eyes shone through the orange tint, begging, pleading. He looked at the cake- round and lathered generously with decadent, savory chocolate frosting. He looked back at the redhead- his lips unconsciously set into a heartbreaking pout. He looked back at the cake... and mournfully tore his eyes away._

_ "Fine. Just this once." Mello had trouble biting back a smile as his friend beamed up at him. "But I'll show you! I'm not going to get diabetes and I'm _not_ going to die!"_

_ "You'd better not! I'd kill you!"_

_ The two boys stared at each other for a brief moment before simultaneously erupting into laughter at the ridiculous statement._

_ "You do realize, that this is the _last_ time you'll ever see a chocolate cake left uneaten! Breakfast or otherwise!" Mello remarked as the boys strode to their usual table._

_ Matt threw his head back, red locks briefly flitting out of his face as he barked a laugh. "I'm counting on that!"_

I tore my eyes away from the uneaten confectionary, and turned towards my usual table. My usual, boring, _empty_ table. I nibbled experimentally on a piece of toast. It tasted bland. I got up to clear my plate after only a few minutes and half a slice of toast.

When others saw my meager food intake and slight form, and heard rumors of my alleged mental instability, it was easy to come to the conclusion that I had some sort of eating disorder. This wasn't true. Food didn't really interest me, never had. The only reason I used to eat relatively normally was because someone had been there to lovingly shove the food down my throat. And now... they may mercilessly gossip and spout rumors about me, but no one truly cared.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Thank you so much for the encouraging reviews I received last chapter. I was so exited about this fic, I'm updated really early! But don't get too used to frequent updates... I usually keep to once a week. :) But thank you again to my reviewers as well as to the silent readers. I would love to hear what you all think! And once again, italics are flashbacks. So enjoy chapter 2! Don't worry, plot will be developing soon. But for now, we shall progress further into Matt's sad little day as the flashbacks get closer and closer to present! Enjoy!**

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Yes, this was just a normal, humdrum day. Although my body was oriented towards the teacher, my eyes were cast under the table where little pixilated Mario artfully hopped through each level. I allowed myself to relax, my mind and body going numb as an endless wave of Mario coursed through my head. I allowed the game to take over, filling every last crevice of my cursed genius mind until I didn't have to think anymore. I didn't have to think, I didn't have to remember, and I certainly didn't have to pay attention in class...

"MATHEW!"

I unwillingly tore my eyes from my blessed DS to take in the red faced professor that hovered over my desk. I looked around the room. Every head was turned my way. I shrunk back from their boring eyes, all uncertain whether to laugh or to pity me. The teacher had been yelling for a while then...

"MATHEW!"

"You do know that's not my name, right?" I murmured "Matt is my alias. It's Matt. And it wasn't shortened from anything. Just Matt."

The woman grit her teeth and leaned further into my personal space. "Well, _Matt_, I'm sure you realize that students are meant to pay attention to their teachers. Playing your game under the table is disrespectful and glaringly rude. If you don't pay attention how will you-"

"X squared over four plus five X cubed over three minus X squared plus X," I spit out the answer to the question on the board. I felt a fleeting spark of amusement at my professor's aghast expression. "Was that the answer?"

"Nevertheless," she huffed, "I will have to confiscate that game of yours. I don't care if you're number 2 or in last place! You _will_ pay attention to my lessons!"

My heart sunk and all sarcastic comments and witty rebukes died in my throat. I had to survive the rest of the class without my games? I stared up at her, just stared. From the minute softening of her harsh expression, I could tell my eyes looked as tired and hollow as I felt.

"Sorry," she murmured as she took the DS from my limp hands. I lay my head on my desk and stared at the wall, trying to ignore the eleven sets of eyes that continued to linger on me. I wouldn't be getting my game back. There was nothing I could do, no one to get it back for me...

_ "Matt!" Mello anxiously whispered as he poked his best friend._

_ "Mello!" Twelve-year-old Matt snapped back, "You made me lose a-"_

_ "Matt," A much deeper voice voice drawled out._

_ "-life" Matt squeaked as he looked towards the source of the new voice. He gripped his gameboy tighter as he watched his professor stride directly towards his seat in the back of the class. Matt's be-goggled eyes flickered towards his friend for reassurance._

_ A wry grin spread across the blonde's face. "Matt, I think he saw your game."_

_ "Gee, thanks. Now I can see why they call you a genius!"_

_ "Matt." The tall man focused his reprimanding eyes on the small redhead._

_ "Yes, Dr. Edwards?" the gamer quipped._

_ "Matt, I would greatly appreciated it if you were to put in the _slightest_ effort to pay attention in my class."_

_ "And what makes your class so special?" Matt distinctly heard at least four gasps at his daring comment as well as a barely suppressed snicker from a certain blonde. He angled his head towards Mello, and smiled back at the boy's wide grin of malicious approval._

_ Meanwhile, the teacher was fuming. "Matt, I don't _care_ if you don't find Russian history important! It is part of the curriculum and-"_

_ "Он может сосать етo (1)," He whispered to Mello._

_ "I understand Russian," The infuriated teacher snarled._

_ Mello rolled his eyes. "God, you're such an idiot, Matt. You should have insulted him in German or something."_

_ "Matt, I am taking your game! Mello, you will not speak to Matt in my class!" The man tore the gameboy out of Matt's hands and marched towards the front of the room, mumbling something about kids these days and bad influences._

_ The boy stared morosely at his game-less hands and his shoulders slumped._

_ "Matt, stop being so dramatic, you can survive one class without your dumbass games!"_

_ "B-but, Mello..." the gamer sent a withering look towards the other boy._

_ "Matt, you idiot..." Mello grumbled._

_ "Mels..." the redhead whimpered as he slyly slipped off his goggles, unleashing the power of his wide, emerald green, puppy eyes._

_ Mello glared at the other boy. "Matt, I see what you're doing..." the blonde's manipulative friend allowed his pouting lips to quiver. "God! Fine!" Mello stood up on his chair with gusto._

_ Dr. Edwards rubbed his temples and sent a tired glare towards the rebellious student. "Mello, please sit down."_

_ "Dr. Edwards, please give Matt his game back," Mello retorted. Matt struggled to hide his smile with a shocked expression that mirrored the other students._

_ "Mello. I am the teacher. You are the student. I will do as I wish, and you will listen to me."_

_ Mello snorted and crossed his arms, "Great job you're doing there."_

_ "Mello! Go to Roger's office right now! And take that good-for-nothing friend of yours with you!"_

_ Before Matt could process the scathing remark, he heard a slam and a gasp._

_ "Mello! What the hell are you doing!"_

_ The blonde in question was currently holding his teacher in a headlock, smashing his face into his desk._

_ "Shut the fuck up! No one. NO ONE speaks about Matt that way! He is NOT a good-for-nothing and is a thousand times smarter than you'll ever be!" Mello's caustic growl pierced through the frightened screams of the spineless students._

_ "Mello, back OFF! You're gonna get in a shit-load of trouble!" Matt ran up to the violent preteen._

_ "MATT! MELLO! My office! Now!" Roger appeared at the doorway. Mello dropped the gasping man that was about twice his size and gave him a twisted grin before calmly striding out of the room._

_ Matt snatched his gameboy off the teachers desk and made a show of turning it on and gliding after his friend, fully immersed in his game once more._

I listened to the painfully slow ticking of the clock, each tick seemingly further from it's preceding tock. All I had to do was get through one class... one class without any form of entertainment or excitement- fictional or otherwise. On this boring, dismal day, I just had to survive. That's all, just survive.

The game-less thirty five minutes of class felt like hours, but like all forms of torture, it eventually came to an end. I would have glared at the teacher when I picked up my DS, but it was more effort than what it was worth.

"Thank God it's Friday," I mumbled to myself as I flicked on my DS. I made my way through the hallway, choosing to ignore the stares and the aversion in favor of my pixilated world. Of course, Wammy kids never really got a day off, so a Friday didn't hold the same significance as it did for the normal children of the world. However, morning classes were canceled on Saturdays and Sundays, so there was some relief.

I quickened my pace, eager to get away from prying eyes. Like every day, I would go to my room, turn on surround sound and play some game until I can't hear my own thoughts, my fingers become as numb as my mind, and I nearly pass out from fatigue. Perhaps I'll play COD today...

"Oomph," the startled groan slipped past my lips as I collided with the person in my path. "Sorry," I muttered, retrieving my DS that had clattered to the floor. I really hadn't been watching where I was going. People usually stay out of my way, so who-

"Hello, Matt, I haven't seen you in quite some time," a monotonous voice drawled out. No... it couldn't be. I looked up to meet wide, blank, jet black eyes.

"N-Near."

He nodded in confirmation. "So, Matt, how have you been? The last time I saw you, you-"

"I know," I cut him off. "I'm fine. So why are you back here, you haven't been here since... since L died," _And _he_ left..._

"I decided to pay Roger a visit. He has a vital resource for me. Besides, I thought it would be customary to visit after so long."

"S-so your still trying to catch Kira?" He nodded. "So how's that goin?" I felt like kicking myself. Why in the world was I making small talk with _Near_. It felt wrong, so wrong. Almost like a betrayal...

"Not well, I'm afraid. I'm beginning to suspect corruption in the Japanese police force. I'm afraid I cannot tell you more."

"Ah," I responded, desperate for escape.

Near seemed to sense this. "Well, I must be going. Perhaps we will meet again?"

"Perhaps." Near turned to leave. "Wait!"

"Yes, Matt?" Near tilted his head in curiosity.

"Um, you don't know where..." my throat constricted and I found myself unable to choke out the rest of my question.

"I apologize. I haven't seen, or heard of him since he left."

My heart sunk. "Kay, uh, bye."

"Farewell."

I forced my feet to move towards my room. For some reason I was now dreading going back, as if something horrible was waiting to punish me for my sins. I felt awful for talking to Near. However, my fears were useless. No one cares who I talk to now...

_Matt strolled down the hallway, reveling in his new status as a teenager. For once, the striped gamer walked alone. His usual companion had stayed late with a teacher to argue his grade. A soft smile slipped onto Matt's face as images of his indignant friend receiving his grade passed through his mind._

_ "Nerd," he muttered, the mean-spirited word sounding more like a term of endearment._

_ "Matt," a small white puff of hair appeared before the preoccupied teen._

_ "Ah! Oh, sorry Near. You kinda popped out of nowhere."_

_"It is your birthday, today, is it not?"_

_ "Um, yeah, Near, it is..." the redhead glanced around nervously. If a certain blonde were to see his best friend conversing with his sworn enemy..._

_"Thirteen years before today you entered the world," Near mused._

_ "Uhuh," Matt felt uncomfortable talking to people in general, but speaking with this socially retarded protege was particularly awkward._

"_I hope you don't mind, but I purchased an item to commemorate the event."_

_"N-Near..." the gamer was speechless._

_"You are welcome." The smaller boy placed a small white package in the other's hands._

_ "Thanks."_

_ "MATT!" A familiar voice sounded from across the hallway. Matt cringed as his best friend made a bee-line towards him and the pallid boy by his side. The other children did not spare the trio a glance, quite used to such occurrences._

_"H-hey, Mels, how did it go with Mr. Martin?"_

_ "Don't give me that crap! What the Hell are you doing talking to _that_," Mello snarled, flicking his head towards the dark eyed youth._

_ "Uh- I didn't mean to.. I just-_

_ "I was just delivering his birthday present," a disturbingly calm voice chimed in._

_Mello's eyes narrowed as he fixed his icy gaze on the small white box nestled in his best friend's hands. "Give that to me, Matt."_

_ "No! If I give it to you, you'll just destroy it!"_

_ "Oh, so the little bastard's gift is _precious_ to you, is it?"_

_ "Mello, don't get so upset! It was nice of him to give me a gift and-"_

_ "NICE! Now the little bitch is NICE!"_

_ "Well... yeah," Matt shrugged._

_ "Hmmm," the youngest of the three made a small noise of contemplation._

_ "What?" Mello snapped, face red with fury._

_"Interesting, indeed."_

_ "What the Hell is going on in that twisted mind of yours?"_

_ "It appears as though the rumors were accurate."_

_"What rumors?"_

_ "You haven't heard the rumors?"_

_ "Spit it out, Q-tip head."_

_ "Based on my observations of Mello's possessive nature and jealousy in relation to Matt as well as Matt's confidence when dealing with an agitated Mello, I believe the rumors are correct. You two are together."_

_ Matt cocked his head in confusion. "Mello? What does he mean we're 'together?' We're always together, so why does he make it sound like something bad? ...Mello?"_

_ Matt looked up to his friend, to find the other boy's cheeks had been tinged a soft pink, much more delicate than the coloring from his previous anger. Cute... Matt decided._

_ Near examined the boys with cryptic eyes. "Ah, I see. So Matt and Mello are not together, but Mello wishes they were."_

_ As his fist cracked against Near's jaw, the blonde found himself wondering why he hadn't come up with this solution earlier. He knew from experience that Near was best tolerated when silenced by a swollen jaw._

_ "Mello, why did you-"_ _Matt started._

_ "Because we're friends, Matt! FRIENDS!" The teen whipped around with flourish before storming off._

_ The redhead gave a cursory glance to the small boy crumbled at his feet and darted after his best friend._

_ As the two walked side by side, both found themselves cringing at the memory of the previous conversation. The way Mello had said 'friends' with such confidence with such... finality sparked a painful twinge in both boy's hearts. But after some thought, Matt decided that he didn't mind what he was to Mello, as long as he was _something_. As long as he had the ability to ignite some sort of emotion in the blonde, be it possessiveness or jealousy, or something more pleasant, he was content._

_

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**A/N: I used an online translator for the Russian, so I'm not sure if it's right. If anyone wants to correct me, go right ahead! It would be much appreciated. **

**5/17 Thank you Vicked Lemmo for the translation! It's correct now!**

**(1): He can suck it.**

**The reality/flashback thing will go on for one chapter after this... just until Matt's miserable Bday is over. :( It broke my heart writing this, but the cute falshbacks made it all better! But the last one... hm... foreshadowing...? Well, this is an MxM fic. Okay, I'll shut up now. Thank you so much for al the favorites alerts and reviews! ...More pwease?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry this chapter's a bit shorter than the others, there was just no other way unless I wanted to make, like a trillion word chapter. That may have been a slight exaggeration, but you know what I mean! This will be the last flashback because... well... let's just say the won't be necessary anymore... XD Enjoy!**

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I woke with a start when pain exploded in my foot.

"Ngh. What the- oh." I tossed aside the controller that had fallen on my foot, and cradled my reddened toe. Looking over my shoulder, I noted the sharp red numbers on my digital clock- 3:57 am. I must have dosed off...

I heaved myself off the ground, tense muscles screaming with the effort, and arched my back, wincing as my vertebrae popped.

And so concluded yet another day. One day less before my death, I thought bitterly. It sometimes scares me how comforting these musings are...

After turning off the screen, a deep pitch black washed over the previously glowing eery blue-grey room. At this hour of the night, I couldn't see more than a few inches in front of my face. And _of course_ I had pulled the drapes. Some genius I am.

I ran my hand against the wall, using it to circumnavigate my filthy minefield of a room. I shuffled my feet along, careful not to step on any miscellaneous electronics or hardware. I had almost reached my bed when... I froze. My eyes widened and my knees locked. Every nerve ending in my body was suddenly rendered useless... all except my left hand. My left hand which was delicately fingering the dent it had found in the wall...

_A fourteen-year-old redhead sat cross-legged in the middle of his room, lost in the captivating fictional world of the new game his best friend had bought him for his birthday._

_ "Awesome," the gamer muttered, breath temporarily fogging the screen positioned inches from his face. Matt was so immersed in his game that he barely noticed his roommate call out to him as he slipped out of the room. Something about seeing Roger or whatever... Matt didn't really care. He was just about to beat the boss..._

_Mello may not have made a particularly enticing exit, but a few minutes later... or hours... (Matt's time keeping abilities while gaming were slightly skewed) Mello made an explosive entrance._

_Matt jumped when the door slammed. He looked up from his game at the cursing. He paused the game when things started being thrown. But only when Mello extracted a duffle bag from their closet did Matt finally flick his unsaved game off._

_ "M-Mello? What are you doing?" The blonde ceased his rampage for a moment, shuddering with wild rage before hurling a table lamp at the wall. Matt didn't spare the shattering ceramic fixture a glance. He sprung to his feet, standing defiantly in the midst of the tornado of destruction._

_ "Mello!" He demanded. "Look at me! Talk to me!" Mello showed no indication of hearing the frantic teen as he shoveled chocolate and clothing into his small duffle._

_ "Mello, are- are you leaving me?" His voice broke. Of course he knew the answer, but Mello couldn't leave him... he just... he just..._

_ "YOU CAN'T!" the now hysterical redhead screamed._

_At that, the blazing blonde finally whipped around to face the other boy, scalding him with his eyes of blue fire. "Who the fuck are you to tell me what I can and can't do?"_

_Matt ignored the stinging in his eyes, the constricting in his chest, the burning in his throat... he couldn't cry. He needed to know... he had to ask..._

_ "W-why?"_

_Mello's shoulders sagged, his fire dwindling to a furious flicker. "L... is dead." He said tersely._

_ "And you'd rather run than work with Near," Matt finished in a raspy whisper._

_ "I'm glad you understand." Mello hefted his packed duffle onto his back and bravely marched towards the door._

_ "NO!" Matt snapped out his arm, catching the older boy by the wrist. "I _don't _understand Mello! You don't have to leave!"_

_ "Yes I _do_, Matt!" he wrenched his arm from Matt's grip._

_ "No you don't! You can stay here!"_

_ "What is there left for me, Matt? Don't get in my way! I have to do this!"_

_ Matt fell to his knees, ripping off his goggles to unleash his silent plea._

_ "God damn it! Give me one good reason to stay!"_

_ Matt bit his lip, willing the bitter tears to remain encased in his agonized green eyes._

_ "I thought so," Mello whispered. He took a stiff step through the doorway._

_ "BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!" Matt wailed._

_ The blonde froze. A charged silence invaded the room, only broken by the soft whimpers accompanying the tears sliding down Matt's cheeks._

_ "God damn it, Matt," the blonde whispered, peering at his weeping friend through his golden fringe. "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!" Mello spun around and connected his fist with the wall, a small dent the only semblance of the frantic violence._

_ Mello allowed his bitter, confident mask to slip for one last moment. With a final look of tortured desire, Mello tore his eyes from the anguished, beautiful boy who had just professed his love to him... and left._

_ Matt didn't know how long he sat there. He didn't know how long it took before Mello's sheets stopped smelling like Mello. He didn't know how long it was before Roger was forced to remove him from the bed by force. He didn't know how long it took before the tears dried up. All he knew was that Mello was gone... gone... gone... _He_ was gone..._

I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing away the memories, the memories, the images, no! My hand snapped back as if it had been burned. I stumbled towards my bed, tripping over obtrusive items without the support of the wall. After all, I had been burned, and it was more than just my hand.

I crawled into my bed and nestled into the covers. Yes, it had been just another day in my purposeless, painfully monotonous life... I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

_Knockknowknock! Knockknockknock!_

A strange tapping noise stirred me from my slumber. I rolled over to glare at my clock. I must have overslept... 4:42 am? That can't be right. No one would wake me this early. So who-

_Knockknockknock!_

As the fog slowly lifted from my sleep deprived mind, I realized that the knocking wasn't coming from the door at all, but from the window.

_ KNOCKKNOCKKNOCK!_

"Well whoever it is needs to learn a thing or two about patience," I grumbled, pulling at the drapes.

No. No it can't be. Was I on drugs? Drunk? This can't be reality. I'm so tired I must be seeing things, that's the only plausible explanation. For there is _no way_ that the person balancing on a branch by my window can be anything more than a hallucination.

I blinked. I blinked again. This hallucination... _Mello..._ was not disappearing... In fact, he was starting to look a bit ticked that I hadn't opened the window. I guess they were all right, I have finally snapped. My tenuous grip on reality had finally been broken. But... if this was what insanity was like... if I got to see _him_ again... perhaps insanity wasn't so bad.

I pulled open my window and Hallucination-Mello sprung in, lithe as a panther. I proceeded to shamelessly ogle at him. Who cares? It's not like anyone's here to see.

Wow... just... wow. I must be really good at hallucinating. Well, I suppose that's to be expected, I am a freaking _genius_. And my mind was doing some serious backflips on this one. It was Mello, no question about that, but he looked older. In fact, Hallucination-Mello looked to be precisely the age Real-Mello should be now.

Due to the light, I couldn't see much, couldn't memorize his every feature like I would have liked to, but the moonlight illuminated enough. His golden hair, now slightly longer and choppy, was framed by moonbeams, creating an etherial effect. His skin was glowing ivory, like porcelain. He looked so fragile, so elegant I was afraid he'd shatter before my eyes. He'd dissolve into millions of glowing sparkles that would swirl out the window and fly on the wings of the wind... Flying, twirling, whirring towards the twinkling stars and the angels in heaven. That's where this majestic being belonged... with the angels.

Of course, he didn't fit perfectly into the archetype, with the skimpy leather, tantalizingly clinging to his chiseled body, and his eyes... slightly harder, slightly colder than I remembered. Still, there was celestial beauty in the crystalline, icy orbs. Those eyes... they looked calculating, yet enthralled, as if... as if he were examining _me_. Could hallucinations do that?

Hallucination-Mello hadn't spoken yet. Wait... could he speak? Well, I suppose he would if I was crazy enough. Hearing voices is a common symptom of many mental disorders.

"Matt..." Well I guess hallucinations _could_ speak. Hearing his voice, deeper now, and so soft and raspy... I shuddered. My heart was hammering. This wasn't possible. It was so real... too real. I'd never heard anyone hallucinating like this, no matter how brilliant. Besides, if he was a hallucination, shouldn't he be gone by now? Or moved, or changed somehow?

I reached out a shaking hand and jumped when my fingers met the cold leather on his shoulder. No, he couldn't be _real_.

"Matt. Matt, answer me. I know it was crappy to leave you but-"

"Mels?" the old nickname slipped out of my lips with astounding ease.

"Yes?"

Oh crap. What do I say? "Uh... hi?"

Mello sneered, but his eyes betrayed amusement. "Seems like you haven't gotten any smarter since I left."

The way he lightly insulted me, the way he feigned indifference, the teasing smirk he was giving me... This had to be Mello. "W-why are you here?"

Mello looked away dejectedly. "I expected as much..."

"No, no. It's fine that you're here! It's fine! It's good! It's really really _really_ good that your here!"

"Really?" He mocked.

I nodded furiously, ignoring the sarcasm. "Really."

"Matt. I'm ready to take you with me now." Wait... _what_? He smirked at my dumbstruck expression. "_Move_. Pack some clothes and your stupid games and let's go! We don't have much time... someone might hear us."

I nodded numbly and sprung into action, stuffing a bag with all of my games, some clothes and a toothbrush.

"Ready!" I chirped. And then I smiled at him, and I mean _really _smiled. It wasn't a smirk, a grin, a grimace, or a plastered 'look-I'm-not-suicidal' smile, it was genuine. And it felt _good_.

And when Mello saw how excited I was, he had to smile too. We stood there for a moment, just smiling. I can't be certain, but it seemed as if he hadn't smiled in a long time either.

"C'mon," he grabbed my hand, sending a jolt up my spine. We swung out the window, just like we used to whenever we snuck out as kids. As we ran towards the street, I wondered how he was planning on getting us out. Surly we weren't going to _run_ all the way to, well, where ever we were going.

Oh. He had a motorcycle. He had a fucking motorcycle! That's so... cool!

"Get on," he commanded, his face set back into a mask of slightly sinister neutrality. I obliged.

So there I was. Riding on a motorcycle, arms wrapped tightly around Mello, clinging to him as if my life depended on it. I didn't care where we were going or what lay ahead. For the moment, I didn't even care what had caused the hardened glean in his eyes. All that mattered was that Mello was here. With me. I was with Mello. And I was leaving my monotonous life of misery far, far behind.

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**AN: YAY!!!! THEY'RE BACK TOGETHER! But don't think it's all sparkles and smiles from here. Oh no. Our two little boys are much too emotionally damaged and messed up in the head to be anywhere near a happily ever after! Please review! I love you guys!**


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hey guys! Here is chapter 4! But, before we get started, just an FYI for people reading this that are also following my other fics- A Visit to Wammys and Misa's Diary. I will not be updating either this week. I'm so sorry, but this week I have tech week for a show I'm in (btw, if you're in the Boston area you should see it. In Braintree the Curtain Call Theater is putting on The Childrens Hour!) and I have my frst ever AP test on friday. So I'm spending all weekend studying, and all week rehearsing and studying, and not writing. Wah. :( The only reason this is being updated is because I wrote it in advance! So I guess I'm like a third smart? Kay, well that's all. R+R!**

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I don't know how (really, I don't want to know how he has such connections) but we ended up in America- LA to be precise. I'm sure it was beautiful, but I've never been much of an outdoorsy person, even in urbanized places, so I didn't pay much mind to the scenery. Well, that is, until we got into Mello's- to _our_ part of town. I know I haven't seen much of the world, but I'm not an idiot. We were definitely in the bad part of town. And I mean the _bad_ part of town- like the bodies in the dumpster, drug dealers out in the open, kind of "bad."

Mello glanced over his shoulder with a teasing smirk when he felt me tighten my arms around his waist (yes, he brought the motorcycle to America, and again, I don't want to know). "What's wrong, Matty-boy? Are you scared."

I ignored the little flip my stomach performed at the sound of the cute nickname and clenched my jaw. "No." I most certainly didn't want to appear weak in front of Mello, who would always go to extremes to prove his masculinity. When we were younger, I had teased him frequently, claiming his strength and temper were over-compensation for looking like a girl. Of course, there was probably a lot of truth to that. But besides that, I had a sneaking suspicion that one of the reasons I had been left behind was because Mello didn't think I was strong enough to tag along with him. I _would not_ give him any reason to believe that changing his mind about my companionship was a mistake. So, I put on a brave face.

"Lier." I could hear the smile in his voice. I supposed I was a little relieved that not much had changed between us. Mello could still always tell I was lying, even by the mere sound of my voice.

"I'm not scared!"

He barked out a laugh. "Don't worry, Matt. I was a little freaked out too when I came to this shit hole. Of course, _I_ was alone, and _I_ was fourteen!"

"It's not my fault you were alone," I grumbled. Mello tensed. _Shit_. I didn't want to argue with him about it, not now, not ever. Of course I was a little resentful he left me, for all of the painful, lonely years, but I had already forgiven him. I forgave him the moment he stepped past my window sill- well as soon as I realized he was real anyway.

"We're here." When the roaring engine was turned off, the silence slapped me in the face. _Damn_ was that motorcycle loud.

"Matt, you can get off of me now."

I flushed. "Sorry," I mumbled, reluctantly unwinding my arms from his waist. My shaking knees nearly gave out when my feet came in contact with the ground.

"You get used to that too. C'mon, our room's on the third floor." I glanced up warily at our apartment building. I wasn't _afraid_ of it, per se, I was merely _uncomfortable_ with the fact that it looked like it was about to crumble or spontaneously combust.

The knot in my stomach tightened as I watched Mello saunter towards the building. The thought of Mello living here all of these years... I had known there weren't many opportunities for runaway orphans but to think he'd end up _here_...

"Matt, you dimwit! Did you forget how to walk? Get your lazy ass over here!"

But the worst part is, I thought as I followed Mello up the stained stairs- stained with _what_ was a question I refused to dwell on- that Mello looked at home in this dump. I mean, this was still _Mello_, and he wasn't filthy or a drug addict or anything (well, I _think_), but something about him made him look natural next to the broken door he was currently wrestling with.

It may have been the leather, it may have been his confidence, or it may have been his choppy haircut. But those qualities (although somewhat new to me) connoted with an image that was uniquely Mello. I had a feeling it was his eyes. Those eyes that spoke of determination, of danger, and of something far more sinister than I was used to- something that hadn't _been_ there when Mello left. The Mello I knew wouldn't meld so flawlessly with these dilapidated surroundings.

"God fucking DAMN IT!" Mello cried as the door finally succumbed to his wrath.

"Do you want me to fix that lock?"

"Eh, don't bother. Everything's fucked up around here."

Stepping into the apartment, I could see what he meant. I fought the urge to wrinkle my nose- god, what was that stench?

"Heh, the smell," Mello remarked upon glancing at my expression. "Don't worry, it's not me. I _try_ not to live like a pig. It smelled like this when I got here."

My hands instinctively groped for my goggles, which I was slightly surprised to find were securely implanted over my eyes. I absently chewed on my lip. It was rather unsettling, being with someone who could peer into my mind with such astonishing ease- I mean _with_ my goggles still on. This was nothing new, Mello had always been able to read me. But after all of this time, I guess I just wasn't used to it.

"Take out your electro-geek shit," Mello dictated, fishing out a chocolate bar from his pants. Where was that bar hiding? Those leather pants were so _tight_. I did as he had commanded, sifting through my bag to retrieve my laptop along with various other electronics. "So, Matt," Mello nodded as I completed my task, "here's how it's going to work. In order to catch Kira, you need to-"

"You're still trying to find Kira!"

"Yes you idiot!" Mello whirred on me. "What? Did you think I gave up? I'm not a fucking quitter!"

"Chill, Mello! I know you're not!"

"Shut up! Why do you think I came to get you? With your help, I'll beat Near for sure! The little bastard may have all the resources, but I can outsmart him when I have _two_ brilliant minds on my side!" he flashed me a wicked grin, eyes flashing with vindictive victory.

I suppose I should have been upset, felt utterly pathetic and worthless. He hadn't missed me half as much as I had hopelessly pined for him. And he had instigated our reunion for the same reason he had left me in the first place- to catch Kira, to avenge L, to beat Near. None of it had anything to do with me. But at the same time...

"You need me," I stated nonchalantly, as if I were commenting on the weather. Sure, he didn't need me in the way I would have liked... as his friend, as his emotional support, or as something more... But the fact that he needed me at all, for anything, was good enough for me.

Mello's face twisted in indignant fury. "I don't _need_ you!" he spat. He stormed across the room, pacing back and forth, and showing no mercy to the crumpled chocolate wrappers that were so unfortunate as to be lying in the way of his wrath. "I _don't_ need you," he repeated, muttering the phrase to himself.

"That's not true!" I jumped in his path. His eyes widened in shock before narrowing threateningly to match his plastered scowl.

Mello opened his mouth, lingering in that position for a wordless moment, caught in a gaping scowl before sputtering, "W-what do you mean!?" I smirked and stood a little taller. Mello wasn't one to stutter. And Mello clearly wasn't used to facing defiance either. I fought back a grin of utter delight. I was the only one who had ever stood up to Mello, and I was beyond grateful that this was still the case. Well, I supposed he would just have to get used to talking to someone who's spine didn't melt after a scathing glance.

"What I _mean_ is that you're wrong. You do need me."

"Yes, because I'm absolutely incapable of living without you, Matt! Is that what you want to hear?" He barked, voice dripping in sarcasm. "After all, I didn't survive on my fucking own for three years! No, I fucking needed my Matty to hold my hand! Well, guess what, Matt? I'm still here! I didn't fucking die without you!"

"That's not what I was saying at all," I watched him grit his teeth at my serene expression with twisted glee. I knew my ability to keep a level head when we fought always ground on his nerves. "Funny how you immediately interpreted my words that way. I _meant_ that you need me for the Kira case, considering you traveled six thousand miles to get me. That would be a Hell of a lot of effort for someone you don't need."

"Fuck you," he muttered. Yes, Mello was definitely rusty at fighting.

"So," I smiled, "what did you want me to do?"

"What the Hell, Matt? You- you... Fuck! I can't deal with you right now! I'm going out. Go play your stupid games like the useless prick you are." As he turned to leave, strutting towards the door, my heart clenched and my vision fogged. No, no. This was too similar... it was just like... My head spun and throbbed, and I dug my nails into my palm, desperately trying to find an outlet for the painful memories and biting emotions viscously ripping through my body.

As his hand grasped the door knob, a surge of furious adrenaline coursed through my veins.

"NO!" I cried.

_The room is spinning, the room is spinning, why is the room spinning? _

_ The memories, the festering wounds, where is Mello? _

_ My head is throbbing, my heart is throbbing, my hand is throbbing, what's wrong with my hand?_

I brought my trembling clenched fist before my face, staring at it blankly until the world stopped spinning around it, and my stomach stopped with it.

What the Hell was that?

And where is Mello?

"Mello?" I rasped.

"Matt, the Hell-" I looked down to find Mello lying at my feet, cradling his cheek in his hand.

"Mello! What are you doing down there?"

He looked at me with weary eyes and scrunched his brow in confusion. "Matt..." he removed his hand from his face, revealing his rapidly swelling cheek.

"Mello! What happened?"

"Y-you punched me." I _punched_ him? Funny, I didn't remember. You'd think I'd remember my first time punching anyone in my life.

I blinked. "Oh." All I could do was stare at him, my mouth slightly agape in what was probably an incredibly idiotic expression. Mello looked strange at this angle. He was beneath me. I had hurt him. Oh god, had I really hurt _Mello_?

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" I burst. "Mello! I'm so sorry!" I knelt down at his side.

Mello sat up and grasped my face firmly between his hands, almost painfully. "Matt, are you okay?"

"A-am _I_ okay? You-" My voice wavered.

"Matt, you're still shaking..."

"I'm so sorry! I didn't want to hurt you! I didn't want to hurt you!" I cried in desperation.

"Calm down, Matt!"

"I'm sorry!"

"WILL YOU STOP APOLOGIZING?"

"S-sorry. I mean, shit. I mean, I'm sorry I-"

"Shut up, Matt. What the Hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," I smiled, wrenching his hands off of my face- they really were starting to hurt. I wasn't lying. Everything _was_ fine now. Mello didn't seem hurt, and he wasn't leaving. His undivided attention was on _me_. No, nothing was wrong with me. Things couldn't be better.

"Matt," he said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "You just had a panic attack and punched me. You're not okay."

"Oh yeah. I didn't mean to. You were just leaving and-" I bit my lip. _ Mello leaving._..

"Matt," I stared diligently at the ground. "Matt, look at me damn it!" A crisp slap resonated through the dingy apartment. I raised a hand to lightly prod my cheek. _Ow. _I raised my eyes to meet Mello's stern glower. "That's more like it. Now you listen to me! I could send you back to England any time I want. So this is how things work around here. I do whatever the Hell I want. I come and _go_ as I please. And you will do as I say, or I'll kick your little ass out of my apartment. You are going to do hacking jobs, research and whatever else I think of. You won't have panic attacks, and you won't hit me. You've lived alone in your room for three years... I saw that my shit was still in the room, so no one else moved in. So you can survive the mere hours that I'm gone. Are we clear?" I nodded my head numbly, and he grinned. "Good boy," he praised, patting my head. "Now, I'm going out, and you're not going to throw a fit."

He stood and brushed himself off before reaching once again for the door. He probably didn't realize that I saw the pain, the worry, and the remorse in his last fleeting glance.

But, it didn't matter what he said, or what truths lay behind his threats as the door slammed in my face. Mello was gone, and it hurt like Hell.

I clamped down on my lip, willing myself not to cry.

_He left me again..._

No! But he's coming back!

_He came back last time too... eventually._

This time is different. He needs me now.

_And yet he denies that fact._

He'll only be gone for a little while. I can make it 'till then.

_Can I really?_

Of course I can. I made it three years without him.

_But now that I have him back, how can I let him go for an instant?_

I'll manage. I always get by.

I pulled myself off of the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Time goes by faster when you sleep... I flopped onto his bed, ignoring the formalities of preparing for bed and diving under the covers fully clothed. I buried my face in his pillow. It smelt like Mello...

I pushed from my mind the thought that this was exactly what I had done when he'd left, years ago. I enjoyed the moment, breathing in his scent and repeating the mantra in my head, over and over...

_He'll be back soon... He'll be back soon... He'll be back soon..._

_I'm not alone._


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Wow? Dramaq is updating something on time! -shocked face of contempt- Sorry to all of my loyal readers of A Visit to Wammys and Misa's Diary! My AP test is over! WOOT! It was... well... THANK KIRA IT'S OVER! Anyways, I'll start writing regularly again this week. Just a little heads up. And THIS chapter was almost completely written in advance so... thank you past-me! Enjoy!**

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I awoke with a start when a slamming door followed by a rather vulgar string of cussing shook me from unconsciousness. A smile broke across my face. The occurrences of yesterday... seeing Mello, leaving the House with Mello, going to America with Mello, fighting with Mello... it all seemed like a fanciful dream.

"FUCK!" But there's only one person that could be.

"Mello!" I called, springing out of bed and dashing out of the bedroom.

_He came back. Just like he said. He really came back._

"Matt!" he gasped.

"Mels! You..." I trailed off, taking in his appearance. Crimson was splattered over his arms, his wind blown hair, his face, his _gun_. Blood.

Mello shoved his gun down the front of his pants and glared defiantly, "You weren't supposed to see. It's four in the morning."

"But Mels!" I rushed to his side, ignoring the fact that his entrance was so loud, it was impossible to sleep though, no matter the hour. "I can help you!"

"Help me? What are you talking about?"

"You're hurt! Are you in pain?" I scanned his body for wounds, and was surprised to find that none were evident. Where was all the blood coming from? I grasped his arm, with the intention of pulling him to the bathroom.

"No!" he shook me off. "I-I'm not hurt, Matt."

"Mello, your _bleeding_. We have to wash out the-"

"Damn it, Matt! I'm not hurt and I'm not bleeding!"

I studied his face, painted with dried, crackling burgundy. And the _smell_... putrid rust. That was definitely blood. "Mello, there's blood-"

"I know asshole!" he stormed past me, making a beeline to the bathroom.

"Let me help you clean off!"

"NO!"

_SLAM!_

I sunk down to the floor, leaning against the door that Mello had so graciously slammed in my face, and listening to the water gurgling from the sink. So if Mello wasn't bleeding... and was covered in blood... and then there was that gun... I gulped. No. No, he wouldn't have. He couldn't have. He didn't actually _shoot_ someone, did he?

"M-Mello?" I ventured.

"What?"

"You know you can tell me anything, right? I'd never judge you. I mean, you're still my best friend, and-"

"Shut up, Matt."

"But I-"

"SHUT UP, MATT!"

A startled yelp escaped my lips when the door I was leaning against violently shuddered. A part of me was pleased that he hadn't lost the habit of unleashing his fury by punching inanimate objects, despite the fact that I worried the extra strain would cause the walls of this crappy apartment to collapse.

"Mello? Did you honestly think you'd be able to hide something like mysteriously stumbling into the room, covered in blood from your _roommate_?"

"You weren't supposed to wake up." I breathed a sigh of relief, he was talking to me.

"But I did. And something tells me this wasn't a one time thing." Silence. "Mels?"

"Damn it, it's all my fault." he muttered. "I thought I could keep it hidden from you... but I was just trying to justify it."

"Justify what?"

"Dragging you into this whole fucking mess!" I winced as the door bore the brunt of another beating. "I should have left you at the orphanage!"

"NO!" I sprung to my feet. "Don't say that! Mello!" I rattled the doorknob in futility. "Open the door!"

"No!"

"Stop being a petulant bitch and open the door!" _That_ made him open the door alright. Before I could react, my head was cracking on the hard floor, and his hands were gripping my shoulders, nails biting cruelly into my skin.

"_What_ did you call me?" he snarled.

"You heard me."

His eyes blazed with fury, a sapphire inferno of rage, and he thrust his fist into the air. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the impact... but none came.

"Damn it, why can't I hit you!?" he screeched, yanking me up by the shoulders and slamming me back into the floor.

"Ah..." I groaned. "Uh... sorry?"

"Fuck you," he muttered, hefting himself off of me.

"M-Mello," I sat up, wincing at the intensified throbbing in the back of my head.

"What?" he spat flinging himself on the mound of torn and stained fabric that probably once was a sofa.

"Uh... wait a sec!" I called behind me as I rushed into the kitchen.

Hm... if I were piece of chocolate, what would Mello do with me- I mean besides eat me. _Eat me_. I blushed at the thought. No, no this is not the time for perverted musings! Mello is my friend (I think) and he's upset. Thus, he needs his chocolate.

I started randomly ripping opening cupboards.

_Nothing._

_ Spider._

_ Dead raccoon._

_ Beer bottle._

_Broken pipes._

_ Nothing._

_ Near voodoo dolls_.

"Hm, I didn't notice he took those," I muttered.

_Mold._

_ Rodent._

_ Nothing._

"Waaah!" I cried as a myriad of chocolate bars mauled me.

"Matt, the fuck-"

"Just a sec!" I called, hastily gathering an armful of the aggressive chocolate. I stumbled back into the room, trailing bars of chocolate behind me.

"There!" I dumped the mountain of chocolate on him.

"Matt..."

"I brought you chocolate!" I chirped.

"...I can see that," he looked up at me curiously, all traces of rage gone from his face.

Simple math. Angry Mello + Random Chocolate = Not Angry Mello. Math had always been my strong-suit.

He shrugged and tore into a bar of chocolate, sighing with pleasure as his eyes fluttered shut. I smirked. I'll let him have his special moment for now.

On the third bar, I decided Mello was calm enough (for Mello), and I opened my mouth tentatively. "Uh, Mels?"

"Mmm?"

"Uh... I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry. What ever you were doing was probably stressful and difficult, and most likely a little repulsive too, and I probably didn't help much."

"Damn straight," he muttered.

"Uh... but you should know that I don't care what you've done, no matter how bad. So... tell me what's up and I can help. Even if you- if you shot someone it's okay. "

His eyes snapped open. "Is it, Matt?"

"Y-yes." I didn't like how he was looking at me. He was infuriated, yes, but there was also a glimmer of madness, cutting though me like a frozen razor.

"Really?" his lips twisted into a wry, sadistic smirk. "Aren't you scared of me? How can little Matty do anything to help if he's fucking scared of me?"

"I'm not." Am I? The pounding of my heart, the sickening feeling of my dropping stomach... that wasn't fear, was it?

"Matt," he whispered, leaning into me. Those eyes... the closer they got, the deeper the razor cut. _If looks could kill... it would be a bloody murder._ "I. Kill. People. I've killed lot's of people, Matty. The blood you saw... that was from four different men. I didn't even need to shoot all of them, but I did because I fucking felt like it."

_Breathe... I'm not scared. This is Mello... __my__ Mello. My best friend and my reason for existing. Mello. I'm not scared._

Mello snarled when I didn't flinch away, and leaned closer. Oh, God. _If looks can kill, it would be a slow, painful death. _"I could kill you, Matt. I could stab you in your sleep. I could poison your food. I could gouge out your eyes and laugh as you screamed. I could shoot you... Right. Now."

"But you won't," I whispered. "You can't even hit me... you can't kill me."

His eyes hardened, but slowly... _tortuously_ slowly, that biting razor of madness disappeared. It was just Mello. Dangerously pissed Mello, but still Mello. "So your not scared of me," he commented cooly.

"Y-yeah."

He resumed the consumption of his chocolate, as if absolutely nothing had transpired between us... or in his mind. Perhaps that murderous persona was something that was regular to him, as if it were completely normal to transform into a violently cold and sadistic murderer. I wondered idly how many people had seen that look and lived.

"So, you're a murderer. Anything else happen while you were away?" I questioned, mimicking his suddenly blasé attitude.

"I'm not a murderer," he muttered. "It's just part of my... profession."

I chose not to comment on the fact that Mello had claimed he had killed people and yet somehow was _not_ a murderer. Hey, whatever helped him sleep at night. "And what profession would that be?" I asked, studying him intently. He'd better not lie to me...

"I... uh," his eyes flickered towards me then away, opting to study his half eaten chocolate bar. "I'm in the mafia."

_Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh..._

"MATT!"

_Damn it._

I clutched my sides, collapsing into the floor in hysterics. The way he had said it... he looked so serious! I can't believe he's joking about this! Mello in the _mafia_? That's ridiculous! That shit only happens in movies and bad sitcoms! Was he just _trying_ to get me to laugh so he wouldn't have to give the real answer? I glanced up at him. Hm... that glower told me 'no.' I slapped my hands over my mouth, trying to stifle my spastic giggles.

"Will you shut _up_."

I took a few shaky breaths and crawled into a sitting position on the floor. Ew. Had I really just fallen onto the threadbare asparagus-colored carpet? Something told me it was meant to be a shade of blue...

"Matt... I wasn't lying. I actually just got promoted, so I control a group of my own men. Since I'm the boss now I thought it would be safe- saf_er_- to take you here. I thought I wouldn't have to do much more dirty work, but this guy... he... I had to... I- I won't go into it." He studied me warily... worriedly. So... Mello is in the Mafia.

"Holy shit."

"See? There's an acceptable response!"

I cracked a smile. "Thank you oh mighty mob boss."

"Don't joke about it."

"Why? Actually, now that I think about it, it's kinda cool. Like that video game you used to play with me! Remember? That one where we-"

"It's nothing like the video games and movies and shit, you idiot!"

"Oh. S-sorry." I looked down, mentally berating myself. I must seem like an idiot. Mello just told me he's involved in organized crime, which consists of killing semi-regularly from what I can understand, and I start rambling about video games. I need to grow up. While I've been sulking for the past three years, Mello's been working with thugs , all alone in the cold, bitter, deadly world.

"So, now that you know, you still don't care?"

"'Course not. I'd be happier if you weren't killing people and putting your life in danger, but... as long as your here, I'm fine."

Mello snorted. "Damn. I can't decide whether you're a selfish bastard or a selfless freak."

"That's contradictory."

"So are you," he muttered.

"Huh?"

"Nothing, shithead, Look, I haven't slept yet tonight and I'm tired as fuck."

"How can you be tired as _fuck_? That doesn't really make se-" He sent me a sharp look. "Ah... I see." I amended. It still didn't make sense.

He rose from the couch and stretched his arms up, grunting as his back cracked in multiple audible snaps. Still on the floor, I looked up and saw...

"......!"

I blinked. I blinked again. Wow, my brain completely shut down just then. I ogled at his tight leather pants, marveling at how they clung to him like a second skin... revealing _everything_. And his flat stomach... milk white skin stretched taut over a _very_ impressive six pack. And when he stood back up straight, his muscles hardened and clenched in a way that made me wonder if you could kill someone by making them too horny. I bet that's why he was promoted... he would be an _expert_ at that technique.

He turned _slowly_ and he walked- no- he _strutted_ towards the bedroom. And damn that _ass. _His alluring hips swung with each powerful step, and swerved seductively as he turned into the room.

It took me a moment to realize that I was gaping at a closed door... and was drooling.

"Shit," I muttered, franticly slapping the dribble off my chin. "I need a cigarette."

I fumbled in my pockets, producing a lighter and a packed of cigs. I crawled onto the couch, lit cigarette dangling from my lips. I took a deep cancerous breath. Ah, much better. I ran my hand though my tangled hair and slipped my eyes shut, consecrating on the sweet, ugly nicotine that was coursing through my veins.

"MATT!" I jumped and glanced up at my friend, his glare a clear manifestation of his rekindled rage. "Are you _smoking_?"

I bit back a sarcastic comment, opting for a simple, "Yup."

"I-I thought you quit!"

"I did, but then I..." I trailed off, not wanting to complete the statement, the horrible pathetic statement. _But then I took it up again a few weeks after you left. It helped numb my misery. _Numb... I had gotten pretty good at that. But by the time my heart had hardened, the cigs had become an addiction, as regular as my games or the goggles covering my eyes. I supposed I _could_ have quit. The withdrawal would have broken the monotony but... what was the point?

Mello was still glaring at me from his position in the doorway, but his expression had softened somewhat. The condemnation was still present, but the anger had flitted away, replaced by... understanding? Jesus, Mello knew me better than anyone in the world, but he couldn't have figured it out... could he?

"Just... don't smoke in the house," I rose an eyebrow at the word 'house' but he gave no indication of noticing. "I don't want this place to smell like an ash-tray on top of everything else." He crossed the room and plucked the cigaret from my mouth, snubbing in on the floor. Just one more stain.

I groaned. "But we're on the third floor!"

"My apartment, my rules! I'd better not see that _thing_ in here again!" And with that he turned and disappeared once more behind the door, fully confident that I would follow up on his orders.

...Would I? I gazed longingly at my wasted cigaret, already craving another. I thought about going out for a smoke but then... a pain. A twisted echo of misery in my gut resounded.

Why did... oh. My eyes widened in realization. If I went outside... I would be away from Mello. Mello would be in here, and I would be outside, and something could happen, and I... I paused to suck in a breath.

So now I had to decide. Which addiction was stronger? My addiction to nicotine, or my addiction to Mello?

I gave a final glance to the crushed cigaret and flopped onto the couch. I would stay. Funny. For a moment there I thought I had a choice.


	6. Chapter 6

When I first moved in with Mello- after the novelty of Mello's very presence had worn off, I hadn't expected much. All I wanted was a roof over my head, food to eat, and Mello. Well I had a dingy apartment to stay in, and a bounty of Ramen noodles, but all I had to keep me company was my games and the cigarettes I smoked when Mello was out. Mello was out so much, my nicotine intake was barely hindered.

There were times when I would lay in bed at night and bitterly wish that Mello had never come back for me, that his betrayal had been permanent. For aching for him and pining for him and hopelessly _loving_ him from a distance was far easier than living with him. For in all honesty, I wasn't really living _with_ him.

If he had left me at the House for good, he only would have left me once. I would have felt torn up and broken only _once_ before the numb set in. But living here... he leaves me again and again and _again_ and there's not quite enough time to heal in between. Sometimes he'll leave in the early morning, slinking out when he thinks I'm still sleeping, only to return late that night. But _that_ isn't so bad. It's when he leaves for days, even weeks on end. I'm left wondering when he'll come back, _if_ he'll come back. Every once in a while he has the decency to leave a note. But even then, all it consists of is:

_M-_

_ I'll be gone for a while this time. Don't call, don't answer the phone, and don't go out at night._

_ -M_

When I find his notes, I'm not sure whether to be relieved I had a tangible promise that he'll return, or curl up in a ball and die. Those notes... they're concise and cold and blessedly, horribly reminiscent of the past. Our "M-M" notes. They used to fall along the lines of:

_M-_

_ I'm in detention __again_ _for trying to maim Near. The little bastard was asking for it! He offered me a truffle. How dare he! But anyways, here's what we're gonna do. You know that pink hairspray from Halloween? It's under my bed. Meet me at 4:32 in Rec. room 2. Bring chocolate. I'll strategize during detention._

_ -M_

A note like that made me feel like his _friend_. And the note I was clutching now...

_M-_

_ I'm out. When I get back, my chocolate stash should be re-stocked and your job completed._

_ -M_

...I felt like his subordinate. I glanced up at the clock- 11:52. I don't know why I checked... it's not like Mello gave me an indication of when he would return. Even so, I felt as if every second that ticked by was another broken promise, another betrayal, another oman of Mello's final departure, another hollow moment, another-

_SLAM_

I knew from experience that it is in fact _not_ necessary to maim the door upon arrival. But for Mello, the line between necessity and desire is often hazy.

"Matt! Did you get my chocolate?"

At the sound of his voice, I felt my heart restart, and I sucked in a deep breath of stale air, refraining from gasping as if his departure had left me submerged in foul water. I ignored the temptation to turn and fling myself at him, from running to jump at his feet like a neglected puppy. Yes, I had taken to the practice of ignoring Mello.

"Matt! Damn you! _Listen_ to me!"

Because then, Mello wouldn't ignore me.

I glanced up lazily from my laptop. "I'm listening."

"Are you? Because it doesn't seem like it when you DON'T FUCKING RESPOND!"

As the blonde staked over to me, I briefly analyzed his mood. His attire was crisp and unsoiled and his hands devoid of blood... physically at least. The bags under his eyes were light, his back was effortlessly straight, and his eyes were ocean blue, mercifully lacking the stealy sheen of malice. I suppressed a wide smile. Mello would talk to me tonight, perhaps even act like my old friend.

"Well?" Mello rapped his fingers against his thigh irritably.

"I don't remember were I put it," I teased, jutting my lip out ridiculously. "How, oh how will you survive without it?"

"No I _won't_ survive without it!"

"I didn't know survival was a matter of will," I muttered.

"It can be." He smirked, clapping my laptop shut and snatching it from my fumbling grasp. "You just have to know how to manipulate the situation."

"So," I leaned back on the couch with a dramatic sigh and regarded my _best friend_ with barely masked delight, "you think we'll make a trade, hm? That I'll be so desperate for technology that I'll reveal the location of your precious chocolate. But you underestimated me, Mels. I have back-up!" I sang, waving around the DS that resides in my pocket.

Mello smirked teasingly, eliciting a tiny internal victory dance from me. "I'll just have to confiscate that too!"

I dove to the floor, narrowly avoiding the hurtling mass of leather and blonde that collided with my spot on the couch. I attempted to scramble away, pressing my DS into my chest with my right arm.

"You little..." Mello growled. I felt his long, powerful fingers encircle around my ankle, and I barely had time to gasp before he miraculously flipped me onto my back. My futile struggles to get free were met with a knee to the gut and a sadistic grin. He swiftly snatched the gaming device that had clattered to the floor.

"All... right... you win," I gasped, squirming out from under him.

"Not so fast," he snapped, capturing my flailing arms and pinning them to the floor. "Now _where_ is my chocolate?"

"I put it in the shower okay?"

Mello's grip slackened and he raised an eyebrow in amusement. "The shower?"

"I figured that's the last place you'd look."

"Stupid," he muttered. "You're an imbecile."

"Sure," I smiled, finally rising to a sitting position.

Well, this had been a successful endeavor. I had gleaned a full five minutes of Mello's time with minimal injuries. Now he'd recover his chocolate and go off somewhere to ignore me.

"Hey," Mello narrowed his eyes, "what's that?"

My heart skipped a beat. Mello was talking to me instead of eating chocolate? "What's what?"

"_This_," he growled snatching back my wrist. My sleeveless, revealed wrist.

_Oh crap._

"I-I don't know what you're talking about. Why don't you go get your chocolate? I thought you _wouldn't_ survive without it?" I joked half heartedly. Mello didn't spare me a glance, or give any indication of hearing me at all. His head was bowed, concealing his eyes with a veil of shimmering blonde. I grit my teeth, biting back a cry of pain from his bruising death grip. "Mello," my voice wavered. "Let _go_."

"The _fuck_, Matt? There are _scars_ on your wrist."

"Are there? I-I didn't notice..." I twisted my wrist, struggling to pull away.

"Matt," he snapped. "I'm not an idiot. I _know_ what this is." He raised his head slowly, threateningly. I shuddered as his hard, ice-blue orbs rolled up to pierce into my own, scalding me with their smoldering glare.

Despite his hostile glower, I felt a surge of indignation. "You don't _know_ anything!" I gave a powerful tug on my wrist, effectively sending me hurtling backwards. But the ever obstinate Mello only tightened his bone crushing grasp, and pounced on me. The ragged tips of his golden hair fluttered against my cheek. I shuddered, cringing away from the deceivingly gentle sensation.

"Tell me."

"Tell you what?" I croaked, grasping at strands of dignity that may or may not have existed to begin with.

"When. Why. How long."

"Um..." my eyes darted helplessly, desperate to find a resting place that _wasn't_ on Mello's face. "A-about a month after you left. That's when I started. And... I've done it ever since. It's like the cigarets... I just kind of need to."

"Do you have a _death wish_, Matt? First smoking and now _this_? It's pathetic. You've become a fucking emo." _Emo?_ Other than cutting myself, I didn't exactly fit the label, but with the way Mello was looking at me now... _seething_. It was probably best not to argue.

"Uh, sure." I muttered.

"Do you still do it?"

"O-only when I need to."

"When do you "need" to?"

"When I can't handle it any more... when your gone for over two days usually."

His expression froze, and his ice-blue eyes deepened to the cloudy deep blue of a stormy sky. The fingers locked around my wrist finally slackened, and he rose off of me, settling on the couch.

I stared at my hand in fascination as the pale blue hue was replaced by swelling, pulsing red. Blood that tingled and pulsed beneath the paper thin sheet of fragile white skin. I've seen that blood.

"My fault then," Mello's soft voice broke me from my revery.

"What?"

"It's my fault, isn't it Matt?"

"What is?" I asked stupidly.

"You were miserable after I left, weren't you? My fault. You smoke. You're living in this shit-hole. You never get to go out. Part of your income comes from hacking. You're associated with the mafia. You're entangled in the 'Kira' mess. The reason you hurt yourself... It's all me."

"No! No, Mels of course not!" I protested.

"What then?" he raged. "Happy people don't cut themselves, Matt! You're not happy and you're living with me! If it's not me... what the fuck to you want? What do I need to do?"

"I-I" I sputtered. I brought my knees to my chest, and squeezed them protectively. Holding myself together.

"Matt," Mello began again, more gently this time. "I don't want you to do it any more... I thought you'd be happier living with me. I knew you'd miss me, that's why I brought you here."

"Because _I_ missed _you_," I repeated. "Is that all? You're not so selfless..."

"A-and your a good hacker. You're useful."

My face crumpled, and I pressed my goggles deeper into my eye sockets, as if such an action would increase their opacity and force them to expand over my whole face, my whole being.

"Th-that's all?" I pressed, desperate for the answer and cringing away from the inevitable response.

Mello took a deep, haggard breath. "Matt," he began. "I-I fucking missed you. And you'd better fucking remember it, because I am _not_ saying it again."

My eyes widened and I looked up at him in disbelief. I pushed my goggles onto my forehead and blinked against the flooding light before fixing my gaze on him. "Thank you," I said in ernest, allowing a small smile to slip onto my face.

Mello stared back at my exposed expression, his face frozen in disbelief and discomfort before a light pink tinge lit his cheeks. His eyes flooded with indiscernible emotion before he whipped his head away, opting to stare at the soiled and frayed carpet.

"S-so, are you good? Will you stop cutting yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Mello," my voice broke. "I-I _can't_."

I buried my head, along with my still-exposed eyes in my knees. I bit my lip, willing away the strangled sob that was dangerously close to escaping. Talking about it, however circuitously, reminded me _why_ I did it. The emotions. The terrible pain and loneliness and helplessness and dreadful _longing_ that could be silenced with the flick of a razor blade, flowing away with the ruby-red blood, dribbling into the bathroom sink. My mouth popped open, releasing a shuddering gasp when I felt two strong arms encircle my waist, prying my body out of its furled position.

"M-Mello?"

"I don't understand, Matt, but I want to help you."

I sighed contentedly, pressing my head into his leather-clad chest. If I closed my eyes... if I shut out the scent of gunpowder and the strange odor that permanently hung in this apartment, I could pretend. I could pretend we were back at Wammys. Mello and I, alone in our room. Mello holding me in a display of rare but comfortably unsurprising affection. Mello was my best friend who _cared_ about me and _protected_ me and would never, never leave my side.

"What do you need, Matt?" he whispered.

"I missed you," I murmured.

"What are you talking about? You've been living here for over two months."

"No, I mean I missed my friend. You're back."

"No."

"What?"

"_No_!" he pushed me away from him and leapt to his feet. "I am _not_ a little kid anymore! I've changed, Matt, and I don't need friendship!" he snapped, storming towards the bedroom. "I'm going to bed. Sleep on the couch."

"But you missed me," I whispered. He froze, hand hesitating over the doorknob. "You _missed_ me. You missed your friend." I insisted.

Mello started to turn to face me, then froze, hesitating before our eyes could meet. He sneered and turned his back on me, entering the bedroom.

_SLAM_


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: I'm sorry I'm late! :( I have no excuse! I'm sorry!**

* * *

I clapped my laptop shut and rose from the my furled position on the couch, wincing as my stiff muscles protested to the simple movement. For such a sedentary activity, hacking could be incredibly physically taxing. Physically taxing, but still immensely satisfying.

Despite the fact that I technically did hacking jobs on Mello's order, I loved the work. There is something fulfilling about being immersed in a world of codes and computers with nothing but your own intellect to keep you from getting caught. It's thrilling and _real_ in a way that video games could never completely simulate. Of course, it also helped that I was damn _good_ at hacking.

What to do now? I surveyed the apartment, and was completely unsurprised when my gaze was drawn to the X-box settled on the floor. Lying on the carpet a full five feet away from where I stood.

Meh.

I collapsed back onto the couch as a wave of apathy hit me full-force. Sadly, these occurrences were becoming increasingly frequent. It's pathetic. _I'm_ pathetic. I realize that it's only an illusion (I do have a masters in psych after all) but without Mello here, I just feel... _heavy_. As if the anxiety, the fear, the loneliness, and the misery are bundles of bricks in an invisible backpack. A backpack with straps that wind around my shoulders, waist, and neck, cutting into my skin. I can't _breath_, let alone take it off. Let alone walk the five steps to the x-box on the floor.

Of course, I wasn't _entirely_ helpless. There was a way I could get a grip, find control. I rolled up my sleeve and stared at my wrist. I ran my finger along the jagged and twisting fissures in the papery porcelain skin. Entwining into a frantic and ugly pattern of pain, addiction, and _relief_. A yanked down my sleeve and sat on my hands.

No. No, I wasn't going to do it. Mello had asked me to stop. _Mello_. All I had to do was think of Mello and I-

I took a strangled breath. Mello who _wasn't here_. Mello who _left me_ again. I groaned in frustration, trying in vain to fight away the inevitable viscous cycle in my mind. To keep myself from cutting, I had to think of Mello, my sole motivation to stop. But when I think of Mello, it made me long for the sharp, painful, alleviation of a blade on flesh all the more.

Shit, what am I going to do? It's been _three days_ since I've last seen Mello. He didn't even leave a note this time. If only I could see his face, I'd be okay. Even just a picture. But, of course, with Kira on the loose, having a picture lying around was just plain stupid. Even for someone as impulsive and daring as Mello.

Numbly, without really registering the reflexive action, I rose from the couch and padded towards the kitchen.

_A knife. The sharp blade of a knife will save me._

"Matt, what are you doing?"

I whipped my hands out of the drawer I had been fumbling through and spun around. "Mello, you're home," I breathed in relief. "Wait, Mels, you're face!" I exclaimed. The right side of his face sporting a deep gash beneath his eye. His cheek was painted and smeared with dried blood, nearly obscuring the wound that was steadily oozing blood.

"It's nothing," he deflected, grabbing at my wrists.

"Mello what are you _doing_? Your face-"

"Good."

"Huh?"

He dropped my arm unceremoniously. "No new scars."

_He comes home bleeding and the first thing he does is check my wrists for scars?_

I shook my head feverishly, shaking out useless assumptions, suppositions, _hope. _"We need to clean that out."

"I know, you imbecile," he sneered, sauntering out of the kitchen. Although the grotesque tear in his cheek was most likely horrendously painful, Mello never once let it show. Calmly and assuredly he entered the bathroom, gently kicking the door open. I followed him, watching through the ajar door as her retrieved the first aid box from under the sink and rummaged through it.

"Let me help?" I softly begged. I didn't expect him to allow me to assist him. Never once in my stay here had he relaxed his fierce insistence that he could fend for himself... without me. I had already begun to shuffle away from the door, when a terse nod from Mello made me abort my retreat.

"Mels?" I asked in disbelief.

"Are you going to clean me up or not?" he growled, turning his head away from me with a haughty flip of his hair. The effect would have been impressive if it weren't for the dried blood that had matted strands of his golden hair into stiff and crusted clumps.

"Sure, sit on the toilet," I commanded absently as I searched the contents of the first aid box. _Oh no_. My eyes widened and I stared imploringly at Mello when I realized the heinous crime I had committed. _ I _had ordered _him_ to do something. I recoiled from the flicker of his cold eyes, his silent reprimand cracking against me as painfully degrading as a slap. I shivered unwillingly as his scrutinizing gaze ran over me, pondering, searching. Swiftly and gracefully, he turned to sit on the toilet. I breathed an astonished sigh of relief.

_Mello had listened to me._

I removed a bucket from under the sink, and sterilized it as well as I could, given the limited supplies we had. I poured approximately a liter of hopefully-disinfected water from the tap into the bucket and swirled in povidone-iodine.

"Didn't think you actually paid attention during med-class," Mello commented.

"Well, I didn't," I responded, laboriously preparing the bandages, syringe, and cloth with the make-shift disinfectant solution, "but I just ended up learning things anyway."

"Bastard," Mello muttered, the insult somehow contorted to sound like a compliment. "The rest of us actually had to _try_, you know?"

"This might hurt a little," I hurriedly changed the subject. Although I usually delighted in memories of the past, a happier time, grades and achievements were still a sore spot for Mello. And so, unwilling to prod more than one wound at a time, I slowly brought the cloth to Mello's cheek, and gently rubbed away the blood.

He grit his teeth as the cloth brushed over the open wound. "S'not so bad," he lied.

"What happened to you anyway?"

"I don't want to- _Ah_! Shit, Matt!"

"Sorry!" I squeaked, snapping the cloth away from the freshly bleeding wound.

"N-no," he screwed his face in pain. "Keep going."

I diligently wiped away the fresh blood before reaching for the syringe.

"Tilt your head back?"

Mello complied with a small grunt, turning his head to the side to give me better access.

"You're lucky nothing visible got stuck in it. It would have been painful to remove..." His eyes widened as I emptied the contents of the syringe into the gaping wound. "That must have hurt," I whispered. "I'm so sorry, Mels, I-"

"Shut up and keep going," he bit out.

I repeated the process, wincing at his every grimace or and biting my lip at his every minute twitch. Mello was an expert at masking pain, but even so, I was adept at recognizing signs of his distraught.

"There, I'm done," I breathed. "What was it that hurt you?" Mello sent me a sharp look. "I only ask because if it was something rusty, we'll need something stronger, or you may need a tetanus sho-"

"It was a knife," Mello replied hurriedly, staring fixedly at the floor. "I pissed a guy off, and he whipped a knife out. Must have had a death wish or something..." he muttered darkly.

"Mello?"

"Yeah?" his eyes snapped back to me, gleaming with a murderous metallic edge.

"Uh... I..." I faltered, floundering under his hostile glower. "Um, this probably needs stitches, but we don't have the materials, so I'll close it with medical tape and bandage it, okay?"

Mello's scowl deepened, etching precocious lines on his tanned skin. "Fine."

I worked in silence, ignoring Mello's uncharacteristically laconic responses and the suffocating tension that leaked from his pores. I furrowed by brow in concentration, bounding his wound with slow and gentle, yet affective movements.

"A knife, huh?" I murmured, smoothing out the bandage. "I'm so glad you're safe..."

"Stop it."

"Huh?"

"I said, stop it!" he recoiled, hissing in pain from his jerky facial movements.

"Careful, you'll-"

"I said, stop!" he snapped. He jumped off the toilet and shoved past me.

"Stop _what_?"

"Stop _sympathizing_!"

I glanced up at the irrationally fuming Mello, and pushed off the filthy tile, trying not to imagine the grime that most likely coated my pants. "You're in pain Mello, you're not thinking clearly. I think we have some aspirin in the kitchen, so-"

"Why won't you _listen_?" He screeched, shoving me back into the unforgiving ceramic.

"W-what?" I sputtered, struggling not to clasp my hip in agony. "Why _can't_ I sympathize? You could have gotten killed!"

"It's not _me_ who's the victim, asshole!"

"What?" I snorted. "Was there someone else that got _two_ holes cut into him?"

"No, worse."

"Regardless of anyone else, your still hurt Mels, so I-"

"I FUCKING KILLED HIM, MATT!"

I blinked, stunned. Mello had _killed_ the guy? But... even if it was Mello who was at fault, I couldn't resist the urge to comfort him, to console him. Mello stood in the door frame, his malnourished body leaning against it, flopped like a rag doll. Despite the fact that the man before me had taken at least one life within the last twenty four hours alone, I couldn't help but view him as a broken child. His scowl may have been in place, meticulously plastered on, but I could see he was shattered underneath. "Mello," I sat up slowly. "You don't have to feel so bad. You obviously did it in self defense."

"But the others-" his voice broke.

"The others?" I prompted.

"I told my men to dispose of him however they pleased and to make an example of him... To make everyone respect me. And they..." Mello hung his head, allowing the messy tangle of blood and blonde to obscure his eyes. "They raped his sister and his cousin, killed his wife, killed his kid, and set his parents' house on fire."

My jaw popped open. "B-but," I floundered, "it's not your fault! Y-you didn't _want_ them to do that! You didn't tell them to!"

"I know."

I shook my head in perplexity. "I-I don't understand. If you're not feeling guilty, then what's the problem."

"That _is_ the problem," he whispered. "I _don't_ feel guilty. _I don't care_."

"Th-that... you don't..."

"So you see... I don't _deserve_ your sympathy, Matt." With a small grunt, he pried himself from the wall and glided out of the room, locked in a spell of self-possessed loathing.

I stayed frozen for a moment, twisted on the frigid tile in a fogg of conflicting and jumbled thoughts that all bore the same face. _Mello_. I hesitated to stand up, possessed by the irrational fear that I would shatter the fragile silence, leaving it to slice me like shimmering shards of glass, benign in appearance, and lethal if misused. But stand I did. I managed to clean the bathroom (or at least return it to it's original state) without the world crumbling around me.

I winced when I heard the violent squeal of rusty bedsprings. I had a sickening suspicion that Mello was not paying much heed to his newly acquired wound.

Sickening... I suppose that was a word that many would use to describe the blond, himself included. But whichever way I twisted the disturbing morsel of information, I returned to the same result. Sympathy. I wanted to hold him like a small child and whisper soothing lies in his ear. I wanted to take away his pain and his misery and the undertone of desperation in his voice. Such a thing was impossible. But I found myself incapable of heeding either his words or my own thoughts as I was drawn to the bedroom.

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**AN: I know it ends abruptly! But I was at a point where I was like, hm, feel another 2000+ word coming on with no breaking point and... I haven't updated in over a week! So... better than nothing?**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: I know! Shortest chapter to date! I just had a touch of writers block, and I'm really eager to get to the next chapter! So, sorry! But, try to enjoy chapter 8 anyway!

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I peered into the bedroom hesitantly, and sadly was unsurprised to find Mello sulking with his wounded face pressed painfully into his stiff pillow. I absently brought my hand to my own cheek. If it had hurt him when I was dressing it... Mello could be such a masochist at times.

_Or maybe, he just doesn't care_.

I padded over to the bed and attempted to inconspicuously climb on, failing miserably when the springs audibly protested to my intrusion.

"Matt?" Mello lifted his head and stared at me in bewilderment.

"That must hurt. Turn your head to the side."

"Don't wanna," Mello grumbled childishly, returning his face to the pillow.

"_Mello,_" I grabbed his head, and forcibly turned it to the side so the bandage was facing up. "You shouldn't inflict pain upon yourself."

Mello quirked an eyebrow. "You're one to talk."

"That's different," I whispered.

"Sure, sure," Mello dismissed, but he made no move to shift into a more painful position.

We sat in silence that wasn't entirely uncomfortable, for me at least. Mello seemed tense, every muscle in his body coiled to spring. I didn't exactly know how to give a massage, but...

"What are you doing?"

"Rubbing your back," I answered smoothly, continuing to slowly rub small circles into his leathered back.

"No, I mean... What are you _doing_?"

"Sitting on a bed, breathing, living," I supplied.

"No," Mello smiled despite himself. "I just told you... just told you... _that_. And you're ignoring it."

"I'm not ignoring it."

"Yes you _are_," Mello snapped. "If you weren't ignoring what I said, you wouldn't still be acting so- so _nice_."

"Well, I admit that not feeling anything for rape and multiple murders that were connected to you is a bit... disturbing, but you don't give yourself enough credit."

"You sound utterly ridiculous."

"You may not feel guilt, but you _are_ guilty about not feeling guilty."

"No," Mello sighed in exasperation. "I just know that I _should_ feel terrible."

"That's good enough," I smiled reassuringly, brushed his tangled locks out of his tortured eyes.

"You know... it wasn't like this the first time."

"Well they always say your first kill is your hardest, right?"

"_They_ have no idea what they're fucking talking about. It was... horrible. And it was completely justified. It was me or him, you know? But when I got back, I completely broke down. I thought it was stupid and weak, but now..." he dug his teeth into his bottom lip.

"It's okay, Mels."

"It's _not_ okay," Mello swatted away my lingering hand. "And I didn't even _know_ it wasn't okay until you and your fucking sympathy shot me in the face."

"I'm sorry, Mello."

"Don't _apologize_!" he snapped, laboriously rolling onto his back. "Damn it, make yourself useful and go get me some fucking chocolate or something."

"Okay!" I chirped, grateful to be given a clear direction. Mello was crumbling before my eyes. Strong, arrogant, hard-ass _Mello_ was finally breaking. I had thought... If he only would let me in, we'd go back to the way things used to be, and everything would be better, it really _would_ be okay. But now that Mello's scowling face is slowly morphing into an expression of tortured and sincere agony... I'm scared. What if... behind the mask, there's no one there anymore?

I tossed the chocolate bar to him, and watched him ferociously snap it with a wave of comforting nostalgia. This was how it should be. Both Mello at Wammys and this Mello ordered me to retrieve chocolate and mercilessly tore into it without a word of thanks. I smiled as he sighed into the chocolate. One of the few consistencies in my life... Chocolate makes a happy Mello. Because this _is_ still Mello, I had to remind myself, and still _will_ be tomorrow.

With the chocolate consumed, and a slightly less aggressive edge to his features, Mello tilted his head towards me, words of pain and helplessness dancing on his lips. No matter how much he wanted to, Mello couldn't possibly stop now, when he was already half exposed. It would be like melting half of your face. It would be agonizingly painful, let alone ugly. Furthermore, it would render the unmarred half of your face worthless, as all attention would be granted to your blatant imperfection. May as well just finish the job, and hope it doesn't kill you.

"I-I," Mello grunted in frustration, his expression hardening and his eyes flashing. "You fucking love me, don't you?"

"W-what?" I sputtered, eyes widening as I felt the torrent of blood rush into my face.

He studied me critically and shook his head in dissatisfaction. "Damn..."

What was he doing? Was he trying to divert attention away from his dishonorable deeds in favor of highlighting my pathetic unrequited love?

"W-what does that have to do with anything?"

"It doesn't," Mello hefted himself up into a sitting position, so he could affectively look down on me in evident disgust. "But it explains a lot."

"Such as..." I felt my throat constrict. I _knew_ he didn't love me, but I wasn't sure if I could stand his disregard of the twisted and irrational emotion _again_. After last time... when he _left me_. I squeezed my eyes shut and locked my teeth, focusing on steadying my shallow breaths.

"That's why you can stand to be around someone like me. It's why you haven't abandoned me already."

My eyes snapped open. _Me_ abandoning _him_. How dare he think I would risk inflicting the same pain and misery that I experienced on anyone? "No," I said with as much force as I could muster, sitting up to face him eye to eye. "I would never abandon you, no matter what. I stay because I'm your _friend_. And I love you because... you're Mello."

Mello narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't love me.

"I know."

"You _know_?"

"You think it's my _choice_ to love you when you can never love me back? I don't particularly enjoy being bound to you like a dog on a leash."

"Shit," Mello muttered.

"What?"

"I thought I could just beat it out of you or something."

I tried to give a small chuckle, but the noise died in my throat when Mello's icy eyes flashed with a frightening echo of their murderous steal sheen. He was _serious_.

"Don't give me that face," he groaned. I unconsciously brought my hands to my face, as if to hide my unfavorable expression. "Shit, you make everything more complicated as it is."

A flicker of indignation flared in my chest. _I_ was the one making things complicated? _I _had always been like this. _He_ was the one who changed to make our friendship seemingly incompatible. I rose from the bed in silence, ignoring the intensified stinging behind my eyes, and the tell-tale swelling of my throat.

Ironic. In a sense, I _am_ leaving him. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but I have a feeling it will hurt less if I leave the room before _he_ will leave _me_. It's terrible how inevitable his departure has become.

"Wait," he croaked. I spun around in astonishment. A small vengeful voice in the back of my mind begged me to keep walking, to let Mello feel what is was like to be deserted, to have his desperate pleas fall on cold, deaf ears, but I hurriedly suppressed it, overwhelmed by the near-primal desire to _help Mello_. I hesitantly sat on the edge of the bed.

"It's not you, it's me."

I released a small, humorless snort. "You sound like you're breaking up with me."

"I kind of am. I-I'm breaking up with you as a friend."

"W-what?" I whimpered pathetically.

"From now on you work for me, and that's all. You can even leave if you want."

"B-But... _why_?" I rasped, staring unseeingly at my pale, quivering hands.

"So I'll stop feeling guilty and I won't do anything I regret."

"Mello! You don't have to! I'll keep you from doing anything bad, I promise! We can still be friends!" I wailed in desperation, now allowing the hot, wet tears to course down my cheeks. "We can still be friends!" I repeated.

Mello sprung off the bed and walked swiftly out of the room, refusing to meet my eye. "I need to shower, then I'm going back to work. I'll... see you."

A strangled sob pushed past my lips, as I slowly curled up on the rough sheets.

_Mello's not ten feet away... he promised he'd come back... and yet I've never felt so alone, so abandoned._

_ Mello left me again._

_ But this time... is it for good?_


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: I know it's been I while! I'm sorry! But hopefully, this will make up for it! This chapter is action packed, and was ridiculously difficult to write, so I'd love reviews! To the readers of A Visit to Wammys House and Misa's Diary: updates will happen... eventually. :/ The next chapter of Wammys is half written though, so good? -sigh- Stupid end of year projects and such. Oh well, I'm rambling! Enjoy!**

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He kept to his word. The only friend I ever had, my only roommate, my only best friend, my only crush, my only love, my _everything_ now held the bland title of 'Employer That Happens to Let You Crash on His Couch.' Lovely.

To be honest, I hadn't thought it would work. It's not that I think of myself that highly. I know I'm not some amazing person that he simply couldn't bear to let go... No, that would be him. I'm aware that I'm not the most desirable guy in the world. I'm a scrawny ginger with a slight case of agoraphobia whose only talents involve gaming. Not to mention I'm socially awkward, sarcastic, and have no friends. But despite all this, for some strange mysterious and unfathomable reason, Mello has always been drawn to me. Out of everyone in the orphanage, Mello chose to befriend boring, nerdy, lazy-ass Matt.

We used to spend every second of every day together. He used to laugh with me, play with me, scold me, protect me, and _love_ me in his own roundabout way. It doesn't make sense... it never did. But nevertheless, no matter what I did, no matter how focused he was, no matter how annoying _I_ was, his eyes would always soften when they fell on me. Even after I came to live with him here, even when he was cussing me out, insulting me, threatening me... his icy glare would melt, even if only a little.

I knew Mello was capable of leaving me. I didn't know he was capable of ending our friendship... and leaving it that way. Does his murderous gaze still soften when he looks at me? The question is irrelevant. He doesn't look at me anymore. He doesn't look at me, he doesn't talk to me, and he only acknowledges my existence with messily scrawled orders on stained scraps of paper. They aren't addressed to 'M,' nor are they signed by 'M.' After all, I know who it's from.

I lazily trailed my finger around the stains in the frayed carpet, unable to find it in me to care what diseases I was probably picking up.

_Good. Mello would probably prefer me dead._

I let out a humorless snort. Funny. Suicidal thoughts already, Matt? I'm more pathetic than I thought. It's only been two weeks. I used to think that if I could just _see_ him... if only I could just see his beautiful self every once in a while, I would find some form of happiness, as if his vision would provide me just enough fuel to continue living. Intelligence aside, I was an idiot. I still am. I need more, _so much_ more from him than the small, meaningless signs of his presence.

I cringed as the door busted open. Honestly, did Mello even realize that most doors required a key?

"Hey!" a deep voice boomed. My eyes widened in shock. That was _not_ Mello's voice. I buried myself deeper into the ratty pillows, grateful the back obscured my view of the door.

"Mello! Get the fuck out! We know you live here!" The distinctive _click_ of a gun.

My mind spun and whirred, furiously working to process this new piece of information, yet desperately trying to deny the horrible, hideous truth. They want to kill him. They're going to kill _my_ Mello.

...Unless I stop them.

"Hi there!" I chirped, plastering on a strained, ignorant smile.

"It's him!" A lanky man, not much older than Mello or I, pointed at me in exhilaration. His dull muddy eyes glinted with unbridled malice. Despite the fact that his body contained no more muscle than mine, perhaps even less, he did not look like the type you wanted to get into a street fight with. His mental stability appeared to be as fragile as his skinny bones. I had no doubt he would stick his hand in a blender if it meant that someone else's blood would mix with his own.

"Shut up, dimwit! That shrimp doesn't match the description." The other man growled, his deep dangerous voice matching the first I had heard. A heavily muscled arm rotated to point the gun in my direction, the shiny instrument of death somehow appearing benign in his massive fist.

"Hey, put that thing down!" I chuckled uneasily. "You could have just knocked!" Best to play dumb. If they think I know too much, they'd kill me without a second thought. And if they kill me... I gulped. When Mello comes home, he'll be walking into his death.

_What do I do?_

The smaller one shifted uneasily and looked to the elder in puzzlement, clearly bewildered by my feigned ignorance. His eye twitched spastically and he feverishly raked a grimy hand through his tangled and grease-saturated hair. "Can't we just kill him?"

The armed man however, was not as willing to believe my display of naivety, and ignored his seemingly idiotic companion. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Matt," I replied easily. It's not like his knowledge of my alias would put me in any danger.

"You live with Mello?"

Best not to lie, they clearly already know he lives here. "Yeah, I'm his roommate. He's asleep right now. Sorry. You can come back some other time, he doesn't like to be woken up. Oh, and don't worry about the door. It was already broken, so you-"

"Go get him," He commanded.

"Okay, but it's not my problem if he bites your head off." My half hearted jokes were only met with a sadistic grin and an impatient grimace. "I'll... go get him then." I hurriedly tripped towards the bedroom, unable to shake the entirely rational fear that my back would be embedded with lead as soon as I turned around.

I shut the door and darted out of the way, grateful that it was the bigger one who wielded the gun.

Speaking of guns... I franticly tore out all the drawers and ruffled through their contents. Mello had to keep a gun somewhere!

"Hey, Mello. Wake up! There's some guys here to see you!" I deceptively called, just loud enough so the brutes by the door could hear me.

"Get off your lazy ass, Mello!" I continued a few moments later, struggled to keep the note of desperation out of my voice.

Damn it, I'm running out of time! Where's the damn gun? After the dresser had been thoroughly ravished, I turned towards the bed in disdain. The bed? No, Mello wouldn't be so cliched... would he?

I shook my head and dug my fingers under the lumpy mattress and hefted it over my head with a disgruntled groan. There was no way that he would... a shiny metallic object lay defiantly on the bed, ruthlessly mocking my thoughts. Really, Mello? I bit back a sigh, snatched the gun, and let the mattress plop crookedly onto the bed.

Well, here goes nothing. I fondled the tiny weapon with morbid fascination before cautiously sliding my fingers into their proper place. The thought briefly flitted through my mind that I would probably die.

_Well, at least it's for Mello_.

Before my thoughts could further possess me, I yanked the door open...

And pulled the trigger.

The wall exploded.

_Shit._

I hadn't even taken into consideration the fact that I'd never used a gun before- or at least one outside the realm of game controllers. Nor had I even thought to _aim_. Honestly, what kind of a genius am I?

Both men stepped forward and simultaneously cocked their guns at me. Wait.. since when did the smaller one have a gun too? Well, now I'm _really_ screwed. I wonder if Mello will go to my funeral. Oh shit... will I even _have_ a funeral? I don't believe in any of that religious crap, nor do I have any delusions that I will exist in ten minutes from now, but that's just depressing.

"Fuckin' bastard," little greasy one snarled. "Can I shoot him?"

He was, once again, ignored. "I'll ask you one more time," the evident leader curled his lip. "Where. Is. Mello."

"I-I" I sputtered.

"The fuck? What happened to the doo-" _Mello_. "Oh," he whispered, taking in the scene before him. "Rick," he granted a curt nod to the larger man. "Blake," his eyes flickered towards the smaller one. "Who sent you?"

"I did," the one named Rick glowered down at the disturbingly placid blonde and directed his gun at Mello's head.

Blake grinned and did the same. "Burn in Hell."

My horror-stricken mind seemed to disconnect from my body, rendered incapable of coherent thought as I watched what appeared to be Mello's final minutes with baited breath. The repetitious thoughts raging through my mind...

_Not Mello... Not Mello... Take me... Not Mello... Not Mello..._

I wasn't thinking... not really. So what I did next cannot be classified as heroism. Rather, ut would probably fall under the category of idiotic or suicidal. Despite my short-circuiting mind, I pulled the trigger again.

Perhaps it was the adrenalin. Perhaps it was fear. Perhaps it was Mello's utter helplessness. But...

I hit right on target. Rick crumpled in pain. I felt nothing.

Blake reeled on me. A bullet plummeted into my leg. I felt nothing.

Both of their heads exploded. An unharmed Mello held a smoking gun.

I felt nothing.

Mello stood across the room, gun still drawn. He was staring right at me, right _through_ me with clouded eyes.

I crumbled to the floor. Mello leapt over the carcasses, rushing to my side.

He pressed cool hands onto my flushed cheeks and then...

I felt _everything_.

Horrible, agonizing pain in my leg.

Warm, sticky, nauseating blood.

A knotted stomach.

A strangled chest.

The frigid, biting, deadly weapon in my fist.

_Not Mello... Take me... Save Mello... I shot him... I shot him... Death... Death... I SHOT him... Mello... I SHOT him... They're dead... I SHOT HIM_

"I SHOT HIM!"

"Matt! Shhh, Matt! Stop! MATT!" My arms were pinned to the bloodstained carpet. "You need to stop thrashing, or you'll hurt yourself!"

"I shot him, Mello!" I whimpered.

"I know," he soothed.

"He's dead!"

"And you're alive. Now calm down!"

My eyes franticly darted, begging for something, _anything_ to hold onto. Black, white, swirls of bleak color and blinding light, and then... crystal clear sky blue. I stilled and waited for my breathing to slow, eyes fixed on that point... _his eyes_. His cool, crystalline, _soft_ eyes. The ghost of a smile haunted my features. _Is he back? Is my Mello back?_

"Good." Mello raised his hands from my face, allowing them to fall to the side in a lazy caress. "Are you okay?"

"M-my leg," I croaked. "It hurts."

"Yeah, it looks like he got you pretty good. I'll fix you up, Matt, don't worry." he whispered with sharp determination. He drew a sleek black cell phone from his pocket. I almost smiled. How does he fit so much into those tight pants? "Yeah, that's right..." his expression phased into a concentrated and cold mask as he talked on the phone. "No... put them somewhere where they will see. Not on the couch you imbecile! That's disgusting! ...Now. ...I don't fucking care, deal with it now!" he snapped the phone shut and glared at it menacingly, as if daring it to protest it's ill treatment.

When it was evident the phone had admitted defeat, he turned to face me with a victorious smirk. A victorious smirk that was shattered and warped into an expression of confusion, sympathy, and regret. "A guy is coming over to clean them up," he murmured, averting his gaze from my crippled form. "Here." I let out a shallow gasp of mingled pain, astonishment, and delight as Mello wound his arms around me and lifted me into his arms. "I'll... just move you to the couch."

"Thank you," I whispered.

I could be mistaken, but through the overwhelming haze of agony and despair, I thought I heard him breath, "Thank _you_... I'm sorry."


	10. Chapter 10

Consciousness met me slowly. As if I had been rescued from the ocean, only to be deposited in a heavy fog. I can't see, I can't feel, I can't _breath_... and yet I know I'm alive.

Cold. On my forehead. Cold... fingers? A wave of chills cascaded down my body, all emanating from that single point and pooling at my leg. My leg. The cold twisted and drilled... frigid. My _leg_.

My eyes shot open, only to snap closed once more when invasive, searing light stained my eyes.

"Matt?" A whisper. "Matt!" Louder. "_Matt_!" Too loud.

A cracked my eyes, prying them open slowly, unwillingly. My vision swam for a moment before resting on two bright ocean-blue eyes framed by a crown of angelic golden locks.

"Hey Mels," I croaked.

"Thank God," relief flooded his face. "I was taking the bullet out... I looked up and you were out."

"Bullet?" Ugh. I mentally berated myself. _Of course_ the bullet. I was shot, remember?

"Yeah, Matty, you were shot."

My lips twisted into a dark, wry grin, painfully stretching my chapped skin. So now I was 'Matty.' Despite everything, despite his kindness and care, and his evident, _wonderful_ concern for me, I felt like screaming at him. The bastard had declared us 'broken up' as friends, but as soon as I save his life, we're best buddies. Do I have to take a bullet for him every time he throws me out of his life? I sure as hell hope not, because my leg fucking _hurt_.

He must of noticed the change in my expression, because his frown deepened as he hovered over me anxiously. "Matt? Do you want some drugs?"

"Painkillers," I clarified. I hadn't seen any signs of Mello being addicted to anything other than chocolate, but I can't say I'd be surprised if he whipped out some crack for me.

"All I've got is Advil, but..."

I snatched the four rust colored pills out of his hand and swallowed them dry, wincing as they ground down the walls of my swollen throat.

"Better?" He asked stiffly.

I nodded, even though the notion of weak painkillers having any affect after exactly three seconds is utterly ridiculous. I heaved myself up with some effort, diligently ignoring the stabbing pain in my thigh.

"Matt, lie down! Damn it! Ma-"

I fell into his arms. It didn't matter if he didn't hug me back. It didn't matter that he would probably tear my arms off and punch me in the mouth. Not even the throbbing, pulsing pain matters. If my Mello is back for only a moment, only until he realizes I'm not going to pass out again or die, then I needed to make it last. Unless I end up taking a bullet for him again (which I undoubtedly would in a heartbeat), this could be the last time I ever get to hold him. The last time I will feel his warm, smooth skin and his rough, polished leather. The last time his angel fine hair will brush against my cheek. The last time I will breath deeply and be overcome by a scent that is entirely, purely _Mello._ The last time he'll be my Mello.

I nearly cried in euphoria when his stiff body melted, and two strong arms wound around my torso, cradling me. "You're an idiot, Matt." I winced. Here it was, the end to my perfect bliss. The end of my Mello. Even though it would only make him more violent in the long run, I franticly grasped at him, crushing him to me almost painfully, and buried my face in the crook of his neck. I would _not_ let go. "Matt..." he soothed, rubbing tiny, gentle circles into my back. "You shouldn't have done that. Matt. Matt! Are you fucking listening to me?"

"Mmhmm," I mumbled in the affirmative.

"You could have been killed. You could have been _killed_, Matt... so fucking easily!"

"B-but they would've shot you."

"Good."

"Whah?" I mumbled.

"They _should_ have killed me, Matt. It was my fault for letting the information on my location slip somehow. We're moving, by the way."

I smiled softly at the word 'we.' "Even if I let you die, they would've killed me anyway," I whispered.

His hands gripped my shirt, twisting into tight fists. "Damn..."

"It's okay, Mels..."

"You should leave me."

"Wh-what?" I sputtered. "Th-that's ridiculous. I'd _never_ leave you!"

He winced in guilt. Whoops, touchy subject. "You should leave me," he repeated, this time, with more fervor.

"N-no!"

"You should leave me!" He tightened his hold on me, nearly strangling me in his iron grip.

Tears welled in my eyes, only partially due to the bruising grip of his arms. "Don't leave me..." I whispered in defeat. I knew where this was going. If Mello had it in that obstinate, bloated brain of his that we shouldn't be together, then he would make it happen. And if _I_ wouldn't leave _him_...

"What the fuck are you saying, Matt?" Somehow, he further tightened his grip on me. Good thing I'm so thin...

"I..." I struggled for breath. "I won't... leave you, so... you'll leave... _me_. Again."

"No," he snapped.

"R-really?"

"I'm a selfish fucking bastard. I can't _do_ this anymore! Whatever I do I end up hurting you! I'm going to _kill_ you, Matt! Don't you understand? You're going to fucking die! But I'm too fucking selfish to leave you again. So get out," he loosened his grip on me, but still held me fast in his arms in a gentle, miserable embrace. "Leave me."

"I won't leave you Mello."

"Why won't you _listen_ to me, Matt! It's for your own good!"

"NO!" I screeched, ripping off his arms. I grasped his head with both hands, feeling no remorse for his tangled locks. "Why do _you_ always think you know what's best for me? First you think it's best to _leave_ me. Do you know how messed up I was, Mello? How _you_ fucked me up? Then you say we're friends, and then we're not, and then you _leave_ me, and you _leave_ me again, and again, and it's all for _my_ fucking good? Then you ignore me for two weeks, and now your acting like you care about me again? And it's all for my own good, right? Have you ever thought to _ask_ me, Mello? Shouldn't I have an opinion about my own life?"

Mello's eyes flashed with rage and he tore my grappling hands from his face. "You don't know what's best for you, you fucking _idiot_!"

"I am at _least_ as smart as you, Mello," I spat.

He shrunk back, like a mighty venus fly trap, withering away without water. That was a low blow.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely, my anger swiftly dissipating. I wasn't like Mello, I just couldn't _do_ angry.

"No, I shouldn't insult your intelligence so much."

"I don't care, you can insult me."

A sad smile played on Mello's face. "I treat you like shit."

I barked a laugh. "Well, I can't deny that."

After a brief bout of silence, Mello reached towards my face. I shrunk back, slightly testy around the confrontational blonde, but all he did was tug down my goggles, dropping them unceremoniously to hang at my neck. I blushed despite myself, and swiftly averted my unveiled eyes.

"So your not leaving," Mello confirmed.

"No."

"You're giving your life away," Mello murmured sadly.

"So... are we friends again?" I ventured.

He only shook his head. "That's all you care about..."

"Please, Mels," I pleaded.

He scrutinized me for a moment, indecision contorting his features into a continuous flow of emotion and thought, before relenting with a forlorn sigh. "I'm going to kill you anyways so..."

I beamed brightly. "Thank you, Mels!" He didn't meet my eyes or match my smile with one of his own, instead he slowly lifted his hand to my face and studied my ever feature, everything but my eyes. He stroked my cheek lightly with his thumb and stared at the soothing motion, utterly transfixed by his own steady rhythm.

"Mello?" I questioned. Only then did his eyes flicker up to meet my own, nearly flooring me with their intensity.

"I'm going to kill you anyway," he repeated, "may as well enjoy the ride."

His head snapped forward, crushing his lips into my own. My mind short circuited, helplessly sputtering and spinning.

Mello is kissing me.

Mello is _kissing_ me.

_Mello_ is kissing me.

HOLY SHIT MELLO IS KISSING ME!

I should do something, shouldn't I? What do I do? How does he expect me to react? I'm ruining the moment, aren't I? Shit, why won't my internal voice shut the fuck up?

Mello growled into my lips, clearly frustrated with my lack of response. I hesitantly began to move my own lips, meeting his forceful mashing with uncoordinated caresses. He smirked into the kiss and jabbed his tongue between my lips, easily prying my mouth open. I shivered when his tongue roughly rubbed up against mine.

I couldn't think. I could barely _move_. It felt _amazing_. All I could focus on was his brilliant tongue, expertly flipping and dancing and stroking and rubbing, and oh, the _taste_. He easily dominated my mouth, exploring every cavern and corner with rough and passionate strokes.

Only when I began to see spots... black ones instead of the trippy neon that had been mysteriously dancing in my line of vision... did I realize I needed to breath. Still, I waited it out, ignoring the burning pressure building in my lungs until Mello slowed the kiss, retreating out of my mouth with a final, slightly painful nip on my lower lip.

Air rushed into my lungs as I sat there, panting, gasping, my heavy breath rushing into Mello's own sporadic breath.

"That's it," he rasped, his face still hovering inches from my own. "You lost your chance. You can't leave."

A wide, idiotic grin lit my face. "Really?"

"Yeah. And don't smile about it, it's not a fucking picnic being held hostage by me."

I tried and failed to wipe the dopey expression off my face. Honestly, being Mello's hostage sounded _amazing_.

Mello fought to hold back a grin of his own. "Now go pack your shit."

"Kay!" I chirped. I made a move to stand, only to crumple back to the couch in agony. "M-Mello I can't! My leg..."

"Idiot! How could you forget about your leg?"

"You did too!"

"It's not _my_ leg!"

"I was just kind of..." I blushed, "distracted."

Mello snapped his hand onto his hip and smirked down at me victoriously. "Damn I'm good."

This of course, caused my blush to deepen about ten shades. Mello's smirk broke into a full fledged mocking grin, and I buried my flaming face in my hands.

"I'll pack your shit," Mello decided, spinning towards the bedroom.

I gasped, realization smacking me in the face. "Wait, Mello!"

"What?"

"You're gay?"

Mello quirked an eyebrow and shook his head with a sigh. "I'm not going to dignify that with an answer."

"B-but I thought you were straight."

"Do I _look_ straight?"

"I don't stereotype."

"You're an idiot, Matt. And _you're_ gay."

"And I love you!" I blurted.

His brow furrowed and he turned his back on me. "Love is a powerful emotion. Too mighty for us humans to handle. It may make you feel invincible, but it will show you your own mortality. You'll see... when it's love that kills you."

With that, he slunk out of the room.

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**AN: Yay! They're together...ish. Oh, Mello, you just have to complicate everything, don't you? Mello has an awfully dark view of love, though we all have to wonder... Is he speaking only from his observations of Matt, or has he himself experienced the emotion? Hm... Tell me what you guys think! ^_^ Also, how did you guys like this? Was it too fast? Please note that they're not going to suddenly be passionately in love, or even be real "boyfriends." There is plenty of angst and misfortune to come! But of course... you know I always soften the blow with a nice little ball of fluff, so never fear! Opinions?**


	11. Chapter 11

After about twenty minutes of helplessly listening to Mello's frantic bustling about and colorful strings of cursing while lying pitifully on the couch, Mello burst through the door for the last time.

"C'mon, Matt. We're all packed." We really didn't have that much to pack.

"I'm sorry!" I pleaded for the billionth time. "I should have been helping, but I-"

"Will you shut _up_." He grabbed my arm roughly and yanked me off the couch. When my feet hit the ground, a wave of agony shot up my leg, stabbing and shocking my mutilated thigh. I gasped and fell into Mello's chest, grappling for support.

"Jesus, Matt. Stop being such a drama queen." He roughly circled his arm around my torso, allowing me to easily lean on him.

I swallowed my pain and took and uneasy step forward, only to crumble to the floor once more.

"S-s-sorry!" I gasped, trying in vain to ignore the pain, the rippling, stabbing _agony_. I managed a weak smile and slowly got to my feet, attempting to tug on Mello's arm as little as possible.

"God, Matt," He grumbled. "You are so fucking annoying." I grimaced in shame. Why was I so _weak_? I bet if Mello got shot in the head, he'd just hop up, shake it off, and start ranting about how he better not have lost any of his precious brain cells... provided it wasn't fatal.

I failed miserably in suppressing a girlish gasp when Mello swung his arm down, colliding with the back of my knees.

I sputtered and flailed in desperation. "M-Mello!"

"Shut _up_!" I stilled for a moment, taking in my surroundings. I was in Mello's arms. Mello was cradling me... bridal style. I buried my head in his shoulder in the hopes of masking the blush that was furiously warming my cheeks. Mello took my silence as agreement... not that he had _asked_... and strode out the door for the last time, not even bothering to kick it shut behind us.

I internally groaned. Only three floors of degrading, awkward, mortification to go. Honestly, I didn't know _what_ I was to Mello now, and I doubted he would enlighten me any time soon, if ever, and he had the gall to put me in this situation?

Well, it's not like he had much of a choice. What was he going to do? Rent a wheelbarrow? I can't _walk_! Wait... how would he push a wheelbarrow down stairs? I would probably fall out and tumble all the way down the stairs. A random stab of pain in my thigh graciously reminded me how very much that would hurt. I winced, and clung tighter to Mello's neck. I can't believe Mello would throw me down the stairs!

"Matt! Get _off_!"

"Huh?" I looked up at Mello questioningly.

"We're at the car, now get _off_. You're like a fucking leech!"

"Sorry!" I squeaked, swiftly unlatching my arms from his neck. He gently bent over and delivered me into the passengers side of a car. I twisted my head away abashedly in a futile attempt to hide the fact that my cheeks very possibly rivaled my hair color.

"What were you spacing about anyway?" Mello questioned off-handedly.

"Wheelbarrows," I replied in the same blasé tone.

Mello rose an eyebrow as he settled into the drivers seat, but didn't press the subject. He merely started up the car, and backed away in silence.

I took the opportunity to take in my surroundings. We were in a nice car. The seats were leather and the carpet uncluttered and clean. It even had a GPS. Though I personally find them unnecessary, as a supporter of laziness myself I... Wait a minute...

"Since when do you have a-"

"Stole it," His eyes flickered towards me in bemusement. "A bit slow on the uptake aren't we?"

I ignored the insult, my mind suddenly swimming with unanswered questions. "Where are we going?"

"Cheep motel."

"What about your motorcycle?"

"I'll get it after I drop off you and our stuff."

"Isn't someone gonna come back to the apartment when they figure out those two are dead?"

"They most likely had one or two days to complete the task. No one will check up on them 'till then."

"Didn't that guy say he'd sent himself?"

"He lied."

"How do you know?"

"Damn it, Matt!" he burst, slamming his fists down on the steering wheel. "What's with the twenty questions, huh?"

"Um," I sunk back into my seat dejectedly. "I just kinda... want to know what's going on, you know?"

Mello snarled, glaring at the road so heatedly I was surprised two eye-level charred holes weren't forced into the windshield. "Don't you _trust_ me?"

Angry tears stung at my eyes, and I swiveled my head to stare blankly out the window, ignoring the way the water in my eyes contorted everything into blurry swimming smears. How _dare_ he ask if I trusted him! Ever since I met him, all I've ever done was follow him blindly, no matter the consequences. Whether it got me detention, my games taken away, left me abandoned, or got me shot in the leg, I would always hop back up to trail after him once more. Did he honestly think that just because I wanted to know what was happening as I was hurtled into yet another "home" I was losing my faith in him?

"Well?" He pressed testily.

"Of course I fucking trust you," I snapped.

"Then why are you asking questions?" He shot back.

"It's called freedom of speech, Mello!"

"You don't _have_ that right!"

"Says who?"

"Says me! I fucking _own_ you, Matt!"

I opened my mouth to retort, but it slowly morphed into a small smile. Mello had just claimed me as his own. I knew from experience that when Mello liked something, Mello got possessive.

Mello turned to smirk vindictively at my silence, only to have it morphed into an incredulous glare when he noticed my upturned lips. "What? What's so fucking funny?"

"You care about me," I smiled.

"You're twisted," he snapped.

"So are you."

Mello continued to scowl for a moment more, but seemed to think better of it and allowed a tiny smile to form on his face. "I suppose so."

Just then, Mello stopped the car and clambered out. I guess we'd arrived. I looked up at the rundown building with dim neon lights and grimaced in disgust. As if our living conditions couldn't get any worse. To put it lightly, this seemed to be the type of motel that charged by the hour.

After getting a room and throwing a few bags into it, Mello returned to fetch me. I sighed and sunk back into the leather seat, savoring my last moments of dignity. While being held by Mello was... I don't know... euphoric, magnificent, safe, blissful, heart-pounding... it also gave me the distinctive feeling that I was a piece of luggage- a cumbersome, irritating piece of luggage.

So, for the second time in about twenty minutes, I clung to Mello's neck, averted my gaze, and fervently hoped he didn't notice my flaming cheeks.

He kicked open the door (What was it with lock-less doors?), and all but threw me onto the cheep queen sized bed. I hissed in pain as white hot pain once again momentarily blinded me. When the pain subsided, I slowly cracked my eyes open to find two syrupy blue eyes hurriedly hardening, as if in reaction to my regained vision.

"You okay?" Mello asked stiffly.

I grinned. That was probably as close to an apology as I'll get. "Yeah."

"Wuss," he hissed. "I'm going out." He whirred towards the door and clasped his hand on the knob before freezing. He slowly turned his head back towards me, revealing frantic, yet calculating eyes. I could practically see the cogs turning in his head. Then, without a word, he took three long strides, closing the space between us, and pressed his lips into mine

My eyes widened in surprise, not born of the spontaneity, but of the utter tenderness of his touch. Unlike the last kiss, this one wasn't frenzied, wasn't angry, wasn't painful. It was gentle, slow, and above all, felt like the way one would kiss someone they loved. The way he would kiss me if he loved me. _If _he loved me...

As if being jolted from a perfect, blissful dream by a vicious shower of frigid, icy water, he tore his lips from mine, the sheer force of it sending me falling forward. He didn't catch me. I looked up at him questioningly to find... disgust. He was looking down his nose at me with utter repulsion.

_What did I do?_

As if he could read my thoughts... "Just stop looking so fucking pathetic." He probably could.

_SLAM_

This door sounded a little different than the last one. Or maybe it just sounded different because it was muffled by the pillow I had pressed over my head. The water leaking from my eyes stained the pillow, creating a warm, wet puddle that crept slowly, smothering my face. Just a little salt to add to the motley of other miscellaneous scents on this piece of puffed up cardboard they call a pillow. Somewhere in my sluggish, delirious mind, I distantly registered the constricting burning in my lungs and the increasingly shallow rapidity of my breath.

I wonder how many people have died on this bed? Probably on these sheets? Perhaps silenced by this very pillow? Surely, surely that strong briny sent wasn't entirely composed of my tears. I reflexively threw the pillow off my face. Not for lack of self-loathing, mind you. More out of the realization of what _other_ bodily secretions could have ended up staining a pillow in a cheep motel.

I wiped my eyes furiously. What was I thinking? I can't die anyway. Mello needs me! ...Right?

At the very thought, my chest constricted for a completely different reason than my near suffocation. Even if he didn't need me as a... as a what? A boyfriend? Surely not. A lover? He doesn't love me. A fuck-buddy? Well... we had never actually done anything other than kissing so...

I shook my head in frustration, whipping it against the scratchy sheets on either side. Yes, sheets. There wasn't a bedspread or even any blankets here.

Why had he kissed me in the first place if he was going to dump me less than two hours later? This was worse than before. Far, far worse. It wasn't like he hadn't already stolen my heart. In fact, I'd handed it to him on a silver platter years ago. It was more like he took my heart out of his back pocket, kissed it lovingly, then threw it in a fire, stabbed it repeatedly, put out the fire, ripped it to pieces, lit a bonfire, threw in the pieces, and danced in the ashes. No, I'm not being overdramatic. _This_ hurts a million times worse than my leg.

He said I'm pathetic? Maybe if I had bit the proverbial bullet, or hell, even the _real_ one, and marched around without having Mello carrie me, he wouldn't have broken up with me.

But... did he break up with me? Were we even together at all?

I groaned and, glanced around the dilapidated room, desperate for a distraction. Splintering chair, peeling wallpaper, broken door, hole in the ceiling... and that's about it. I wasn't too surprised to see there was no TV either. Well then, the entertainment for tonight would be wallowing in my misery. Wonderful. Just lovely.

I wish that pillow had suffocated me.

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**AN: Yeah, I think he is being overdramatic. -sigh- Oh, Matty! Please everyone, don't hate Mello! I hope by now in this fic, you can all see why he does what he does. His head is just as twisted as Matt's. Anyone care to venture a guess?**

**I've just outlined the main drama of this fic, and I'm really excited to get to it, so the next five or so chapters will probably be rushed. Not the writing itself! There will just be a lot of time skipping! Review?**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I know, I know. To my Wammys House readers, I apologize. I really should have been writing that rather than this, but... I've been waiting forever to write this chapter for like, ever! This scene was one of the main ideas floating in my mind when this fic was first formulating! Just as a warning, there is a LOT of talk about religion, morality, and the like. Please know that I am NOT trying to push my beliefs onto you. In fact, although I agree with some of what is said, these are not my beliefs. Not that it matters, but I'm neither a Christian, nor an Atheist. I'll tell you my religion if you ask, but I think it's in poor taste to post it here. :) So enjoy... and please don't take offense. Oh! And I can guarantee that the Mello-hating comments should stop (or at least pause) after this chapter! Yay!**

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I didn't open my eyes when Mello announced his arrival with the sound of creaking hinges. For a moment, the lack of the usual 'slam' ignited a flicker of fear and suspicion in my gut, but that swiftly dissipated when his raspy baritone unleashed a soft string of cussing. It was definitely Mello in my presence. Still, I kept my eyes sealed shut and my breathing even as I lay tangled in filthy rough sheets, struck by the childish desire to pretend I was asleep.

I tensed when I heard the scream of rusty bedsprings and felt the collapse of the weak mattress. I hadn't even considered the fact that our room only had one bed. Sure I had spent many cold England nights huddled in a mound of blankets and pillows with my old friend when we were young, but I couldn't prevent an icy tingle of fear from curling up my spine. Would he kick me out to sleep on the cold, hard, disease-infested floor? Nor could I suppress the hitch in my breath or the increased rapidity of my heartbeat. Or maybe, we would sleep in the same bed tonight?

"I know you're awake, Matt."

I sighed in quiet defeat and clambered into a sitting position, meeting his eyes cautiously. He didn't appear to still be angry with me for... whatever it was that I did. Or perhaps he _was_ still angry, and simply didn't have enough energy to concentrate his rage into a savage glower. His face and posture only portrayed bone deep exhaustion. I yawned as if in agreement. It had been a long day.

"So," he began when it became clear that uncertainty had sealed my mouth closed. "I found us a new apartment. It's a real shit-hole, but the best I could get at such short notice." He attempted a tired grin. "It's actually nicer than our old one."

"That's not saying much," I nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," was his witty reply.

Awkwardness settled around us, and I shrunk back into the wobbling headboard, as if to escape it's unsettling and menacing presence.

"Um... here," Mello dug into his pocket and held out a small object. I tentatively crept closer, peering into his outstretched palm to find...

A wide grin broke out over my face. "You got me a new game!"

Mello grunted in indifference, but was unable to entirely conceal his returning smile, evident in the slight twitch in the corner of his mouth and the distinctive glean in his warm aqua gaze. "Some zombie game..."

"Age of Zombies!" I replied enthusiastically. In truth, it wasn't the best game in the world and, like all new games at the moment, was completely overshadowed by the eminent arrival of Portal 3 in my mind, but I was beaming more at the sentiment than at the game.

This small gift held all the words Mello was incapable of uttering.

_I'm sorry. I was thinking of you. We can still have that nameless relationship that is a little more than friendship, yet still doesn't mean I'm your boyfriend._

Without a word, I clasped the game in my hand and fell into his arms, pulling him into a soft and meaningful embrace.

_I forgive you. I love you._

He pulled back, but with a gentleness and ease that prevented the action from being a rejection. "Let's go to sleep."

My lingering grin flared at the statement. So we _would_ be sharing a bed tonight. I settled back into the seemingly softer and less repulsive

sheets, as Mello flickered off the dim bulb and followed suit.

"Hey, Mels?" I whispered into the newly established still darkness, more to verify his proximity than anything else.

"Yeah?" Mello groaned. The fact that he hadn't immediately snapped at me for disrupting his sleep spoke volumes for his current mood and level of conversational ability.

"Do you ever think that it's not worth it?"

I heard him shift uneasily, creating a soft rustle of sandpaper bedclothes. "What's not worth it?"

I rolled my eyes into the dark. "Working with the mafia, risking your life, hopping from one dingy apartment to the next, spending the night in a place like this," I listed. "Just... searching for Kira in general?"

"Of course it is," he snapped. "Are you questioning my drive? My ability to do it?"

"Of course not, Mels! I know you _can_ do it," I assured him, despite the fact that a very large part of me doubted the killer ever would be caught. "But... why? Why is it worth it?**"**

"You _know_ why!"

"No!" I exploded. "I _don't_ know why I got shot in the leg today, or why we both almost _died_!"

The last word rung in my ear, as if suspended by the depths of the dark.

_Died. _

I shouldn't have continued. I should have smiled and nodded and turned over to drift into slumber, where frustrations and confrontations would only occur in my dreams. I'm an idiot, I berated myself. Mello is being nicer to me than he has since... I can't even remember any more. And what do I do? I have to fan the flames of his omnipresent anger.

"You don't have to follow me," he snapped. "Go ahead. Leave right now. See if I care."

Despite the fact that I _knew_ the bitter words were nothing but scathing lies, they had the desired effect. I curled into a ball, harshly pressing my bony knees into my chest, and struggled to fight back the gnawing, raw clawing in my chest.

_Mello doesn't want me... he doesn't care..._

"I _want_ to follow you, and I always will," I whispered with pained fervor.

"If _you_ don't need an explanation, why should I?" he hissed vehemently.

"I _love_ you, Mello!" I bolted up in bed, and glared down at him. "What? Do you love L? Is that why you're doing this?"

"That's fucking ridiculous, you idiot!" He shot up, exerting his single inch over me, as he steadily glared down his nose.

"Then why?"

"Kira's evil!"

"Someone else can catch him! Near's on the case with far better recourses!"

"Then to beat Near!" he amended.

"You can't honestly be sacrificing your life for a petty rivalry!"

His eyes flashed with furious indignation before settling into a hardened, stoic gaze. "Then for L. And not because I _love_ him," he mocked. "Because he deserves it. He deserves to be avenged, and I want to be the one to do it for him."

"But... it's not like he'll ever know. He's dead, Mello. He- he doesn't _exist _anymore so why-" a glint of light caught my eye, reflecting off the beads dangling around Mello's neck. His rosary. "Oh, I mean... um," I backpedaled.

I had forgotten. Mello back at Wammys was an atheist, but when he'd gotten a new wardrobe, apparently a rosary went with it. He never took the thing off. I wasn't sure exactly what that meant... but I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate my disregard of the afterlife and shit. "Or... if you believe something different, that's cool."

Even in the dark, I could see his knowing smirk. "The rosary," he concluded, loosely grasping the omnipresent beads. "Don't worry, I'm not some religious freak." He barked an icy, chilling laugh. "Though I guess considering what I am, you wouldn't think that anyway."

He flicked his head away from me, sending thin wisps of glowing blond fluttering past my cheek in a tingling flash of pseudo innocence. "Considering _who_ you are," I corrected. "I guess it is... surprising that someone with your... profession would wear a religious symbol."

He inclined his head back a fraction of an inch, revealing a pointedly raised brow. "You don't need to put it so lightly, Matt. I'm a fucking immoral soulless bastard and I'm wearing a rosary. Ironic, I know."

"You're not-" his pearl white grit teeth flashed through the darkness. I gulped. "Um... so why then?"

"Why what?"

"Why the rosary? Oh shit," I slapped my hand over my mouth. "That must be personal! I-I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me."

Despite my hurried apologies, throbbing curiosity prevented me from flopping over and forcibly ending the conversation like I should have. I looked down at my hands, reluctant to openly wait eagerly for his response.

"No," he sighed. "I don't care. But it's... it's stupid."

"Mello, you're a genius. I can count on one hand the number of truly stupid things you've done in your life," I replied sincerely.

He snorted. "I'd like to see you try to think of one."

"The time you tried to sneak out at night and ended up falling out the window and breaking your leg."

"That's only one..."

"The time you tried to super glue Near's puzzle together incorrectly and got your hand stuck on the puzzle."

"Okay, I think we've heard enough."

"Or," I continued, suddenly giddy with resurrected memories, "the time you wanted to prove you didn't look like a girl and you wore a dress, but you actually-"

"O_kay_!" He snapped weakly, as if trying to suppress a laugh. "But you just proved my point. I have the capacity to be stupid."

"Wow. Can I get that in writing?"

"No. You didn't hear anything."

"But _Mels_!" I pouted.

"Shut up, Matt. I'm going to sleep."

"Wait!" I grabbed his sinking shoulder. "You never told me why you wear the rosary."

"I never said I would."

I crossed my arms defiantly. "You said 'it's stupid' in a clearly relenting tone."

"Fine! It's- it's a sort of reminder, and... it's hard to explain. Just forget it."

"I reminder of what?" I pressed.

"It's just..." He trailed off, staring blankly at the wrinkled sheets. I struggled to wait patiently, hiding my anxiously twitching hands under the sheets. After an unnaturally long pause, I released a forlorn internal sigh and made to settle back into the bad. Of course... Just as he's starting to open up, he would get trapped by his own smothering musings...

"I guess you could call it..." I turned to him, snapping to attention, "the last little bit of humanity I have left, or at least... evidence that I still _want_ to be human... at least a little." He froze and shifted imploring eyes towards me, and I smiled sweetly in reassurement, elated by his evident trust in me. "I'm not religious. But... I know how you're supposed to act, how you're meant to live morally. So this rosary," he lifted the object delicately, "reminds me that everything I do is wrong. It gives me... a sense of guilt, even when my own conscience fails me."

"Oh," I whispered, overwhelmed by the raw, brutal sincerity of his confession. It pealed back yet another layer of the veil obscuring my friend's mysterious and undeniably damaged soul.

His face twisted into a grimace, waring between a cold mask and an open expression of pain. "You must think..." he hung his head and cringed away from our suddenly close proximity. "I-I know it's illogical and idiotic. It's an object. It can't possibly hold something so significant as guilt or morals. And besides that... it would be more beneficial to me, and safer for us both if I just... let go. But I... _can't_."

"Mello..." I trailed off, at a complete loss for words. Instead, I tentatively shifted closer and snaked an arm around his waist. I smiled in relief as he welcomed the half-embrace, leaning into me and resting his head against my shoulder.

"I don't even know if there is a God," he murmured. "But... if there was one, he'd want me to fight Kira. I _need_ to fight. For L, for the world, and to make amends for all I've done. Matt... trying to catch Kira is the only good thing, the only truly _good_ thing that I'm doing with my life."

"I understand... I think. But I would never ask you to stop Mello. I was just kinda hoping you would."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No. If I _ask_ for you to stop, you'd be doing it for me. If you do stop, I want it to be for you... because you realize it's killing you."

"It's not killing me, _I'm_ killing me."

"Don't blame yourself, Mello. _Please_ stop blaming yourself."

I was met only with silence, but the wordless response lingered heavily in the air, speaking louder than a verbal response ever could. He would always bear the weight of his own destruction upon his shoulders, right next to the burden of "saving the world" from Kira. Everything he did or said, everything he's become... no matter how many times I tell him it's not his fault, he will continue to believe it is.

Regardless of this tragic yet unsurprising revelation, the silence between us remained warm and comfortable. I sighed and allowed my head to loll to the side and settle on Mello's silken hair. I inhaled deeply... gunpowder and strawberry... The contradictory mesh of innocence and incriminating evidence meeting to form a unique and astonishingly pleasant scent.

"You said God would want you to catch Kira?" I reiterated. The words did not pierce the lengthy bout of silence, but rather mixed with it naturally, as if conversation had never taken a hiatus. "Some think that Kira_ is _God," I mused.

"That's illogical cult belief."

"Yes, and improbable. But maybe... Kira is the work of God. Maybe God created Kira, or at least enabled him."

"Matt," Mello growled, "Kira is _evil_. You'd better not tell me after all this you're a Kira supporter." Despite his clipped tone, Mello made no move to pull away.

"I never said Kira was good, or right, or justice. I don't think he is. But what if God isn't either?"

"That's stupid."

"Is it? You're not sure if God exists, so how can you be sure He's good?"

"How do you know he isn't?"

"I don't know, you'd just think he should have _done_ more, you know? Sure he's offered peace and salvation to some, but he's brought more wars, prejudice, and bloodshed then peace. L's done more good for the world then God has. If he exists, he's either doing a terrible job or is in cahoots with Kira."

"What? Is _L_ God now?"

"Who knows? You sure treated him like one when we were kids. You still kinda do."

"Shut up," he grumbled. "Do you have a point? Are you saying that God is good or evil? Are you even saying he exists?"

"Dunno," I shrugged. "I don't really have a point."

"You're tired," Mello affirmed.

"It's been a long day."

As if we'd done it a hundred times before, we slowly laid down, nestled into sandpaper motel bed sheets, and drifted to sleep, still encased in eachother's arms.


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Yes, it's a teeny-weeny-chappie, but entirely necessary!**

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Even after living here for a full week, I was surprised to awaken in a large empty bed surrounded by small walls with peeling, tacky wallpaper. It wasn't the unfamiliar surroundings that sent my stomach into a brief flip of uncertainty, nor was it the prospect of being alone. Every morning, the little note folded on the pillow beside me caught me just as off guard as it had the previous day. I smiled to myself, rubbed at my eyes and tugged down my goggles, before unfolding the small note.

The notes were small, short, and seemingly insignificant. They were far from love notes, but they were just as far from being the cold scribbled words of a distant employer. But most importantly, the notes weren't written out of necessity, but because, deep down, I think Mello knew I needed them.

The idiotic grin stretching across my face as I stared at the folded paper was truly ridiculous. These little notes weren't _really_ that big of a deal, just little neatly written sentences informing me of his whereabouts, and giving me small duties. Nothing to get so irrationally thrilled about.

I fumbled to unfold the paper, brimming with excitement that bellied my rational.

I scanned the note and felt the grin drop off my face. This was... different. I couldn't help the chilly dread that coiled in my stomach, spurred by unfamiliarity. He had filled half a page with slightly hurried words.

_M-_

_ I'm sorry, Matt. Remember how I promised I'd never leave you again? I haven't forgotten that. I'll just be gone for a while... and no, I can't tell you where or why or what I'm doing just yet. It's about Kira. I'm mean, of course it's about Kira! I may have discovered his weapon, and we're trying to get it. So, if you hear anything on the news about kidnapping or hostage situations, don't you dare help the police. If this number calls you- 310-6288-6357- it's me. Don't call me. I swear to God, Matt, I don't care if you're dying in a sewer, don't fucking call me! Stay inside as much as you can, don't call __anyone__, don't talk to anyone, don't try to follow me, and I'll come back as soon as I can. Even if you need to move or something, I swear I'll find you. In case I get killed or something, try not to feel too bad about it. Just because I would feel like a real dick if I was hurting you even in death. Not that that will happen. I'm so close to catching him, Matt! And one last thing... I don't know if I told you, but I'm kind of happy you're back in my life. I missed you and I'll probably miss you when I'm gone now. I know I'm an asshole, and you can still leave me if you want to. Just... I don't want you to. You're a good hacker and I'll need you when I come back. Don't call me, don't follow me, be safe._

_ -M_

I'm glad he wrote in pencil. If he had written in ink, my big sloppy tears would have smeared the ink, maybe even smeared the number I so desperately needed to know.

310-6288-6357

310-MATT-MELS

Or is that just a coincidence?

I crumpled up the sodden paper and tossed it into a random corner, having already committed what was starting to feel like his final words to memory. It's not that I didn't believe he'd return to me. Perhaps it was only delusion or unfounded hope, but I truly believed he would be true to his word. No, it wasn't the usual fear of abandonment that tied me down, strangled me, and beat me with the fiery blade of fear. It was those words... those words that roared in my ear, as loud and repetitious as if Mello himself was screeching them over and over, his voice colored with forceful yet pained sincerity...

_In case I get killed or something..._

I realized all at once how narrow minded and unappreciative I had been. Mello had been cruel, heartless, and cold to me, and was more often than not away from me, but he had been _alive_.

..._try not to feel too bad about it. Just because I would feel like a real dick if I was hurting you even in death..._

I wondered with distant morbidity if he actually believed these words would keep me from missing him. He must know by now... nothing, not even a plead from Mello himself, could stop me from taking my own life if Mello were to lose his.

* * *

**AN: Cue the chorus of 'Poor Matty!' But I think we all know what's going to happen next... more like poor Mello!**

**In case anyone was wondering, 310 is an actual LA area code. It's also my birthday, which sent me into a spaz of coincidental glee.**


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Another short chapter... but it's early! ^^ So yay? This chapter is action packed, so prepare yourself! I think most of you know where this is going... ;)**

**

* * *

Chapter 14**

_Click... Click... ClickClick... Clack... Click... ClickClick..._

_ GAMEOVER_

...Again.

_RETRY?_

...No.

I tossed the game to the side and curled up into the ragged, orange beanbag chair. It was musty and it clashed with the few other pieces of furniture in the room, but neither Mello or I cared. Beanbags are so awesome... you can sit without sitting, lie without lying... and they're so cushy...

I blinked in shock, startled by my peculiar train of thought. I _had_ forgone sleep for quite some time... and food. I lifted my goggles to rub at my eyes, sore from staring at a screen for who knows how long. I snapped them back onto my face, wincing out of habit rather than actual pain or necessity, and scanned the room, sinking further into the beanbag.

It may have _looked_ like I was back to my usual self-pitying, woe-is-me, pathetic self, but I actually wasn't depressed this time. The room was dim and gloomy, but only because it's around evening and I'm too lazy to turn the lights on. There was trash piled up, games and electronics lying tangled on the floor, scattered half-eaten take-out containers, rotting BigMacs in every corner, and the lingering scent of an unbathed teen, but these too could all be attributed to excessive laziness.

It had nothing to do with the permanent lump in my throat that prevented me from eating, the twisting in my chest that prevented me from moving, or the part of my consciousness that didn't _want_ the light to see reality. Nope. I'm not depressed.

...Or at least not _that_ depressed.

Mello had been gone two months, and I had only cut myself three times. I'd say that's pretty good. Even after all this time, I still believe he's coming back. So even though I'm undeniably miserable without him, that mantra that I repeat over and over in my mind...

_He's coming back... He's coming back... He's coming back..._

It's more than an empty lie to tranquilize my anguish, it holds weight and sincerity. I don't feel abandoned, nor do I truly feel alone.

But I _miss_ him, damn it. And I can't help but check my phone every hour to see if he's called. The only thing that gets me through the day is knowing that with each passing, dull, painful second, the probability that the next time I pick up the phone he'll have called, goes up.

Even though I was more often then not mentally _begging_ for the phone to ring, I was still startled when my ringtone pierced the dreary silence.

_Gamer, starin' at the TV set,_

I sprung out of my beanbag chair, injected with irrational fear and adrenaline.

_Play that, let me see that NES._

I scanned the room feverishly. Of _course_ the second I'm not clutching my cell and checking it religiously it rings!

_Gamer, starin' at the TV set,_

I kicked aside wrappers and moldy frenchfries.

_Break that, let me see that Genises._

I reached for the light switch.

_Come play with me._

I scanned the newly illuminated room once more, diligently ignoring the throbbing in my skull.

_Come play with me._

My eyes zeroed in on the orange beanbag across the room, where a small red cellphone lay innocently. I did not appreciate the irony.

_Some PSP,_

I dashed across the room.

_ Some 360,_

I bumped my knee on the coffee table, but refused to stop, or even cry out in pain. I stumbled onwards.

_ Some PS3,_

I collapsed into the beanbag and snatched up the cell, quickly checking the caller ID.

_Work them sticks,_

310-6288-6357... 310-MATT-MELS.

_ Gamer._

I opened the phone.

"Mello!" I chirped. I was greeted with ragged, uneven breaths, raging in my ear. My eager expression mutilated into one of weary anxiety. "Mel-"

"-att," a soft voice croaked, and my heart sped up. That was Mello's voice... and it did not sound good.

"Mello?" I questioned again, my voice suddenly small.

"H-help." My blood ran cold.

_In case I get killed or something..._

"Mello! Where are you?"

He gasped out an address before the line went dead.

Is this my fault? Is this what I get for willing him to call?

I shoved my cell into my pocket, sprung up, and ran to the door. I ignored my body's screaming protests... my stiff legs, my spinning head, my aching thigh, my weak, underfed muscles... I needed to get to the car _now_.

Thank God this apartment was on the second floor rather than the third. And thank God for my GPS. I plugged the numbers in clumsily, growling with impatience every time I hit the wrong button.

_Searching route._

_ Searching route._

Damn it! Why is it taking so long?

_Proceed to highlighted route._

I slammed on the gas and whirled the car onto the road.

_Eleven minutes._

I didn't know whether to be relieved or royally pissed off. All of this time, and he was only eleven minutes from our apartment? Well... more like five at the speed I was going.

I didn't allow my mind to wander to dark suppositions of what I'll find when I arrive. I didn't _want_ to dwell on the fact that Mello would have to be an inch from death to even think of asking... or _pleading_ for help.

Was he beaten half to death and lying in a dumpster?

Was he being held hostage and forced to lure me?

Was he bleeding in a dark ally from a gunshot wound?

Did Kira write his name and force him to make that call?

I shook my head so feverishly I nearly swerved off the road. No. I need to focus on my maniacal driving, and nothing else.

The GPS was imprecise about the location, only saying it should be _on the left_ in that creepy, overly cheerful, robotic voice. But as soon as I saw the smoke, I knew exactly where Mello was. I also knew the terrifyingly high likelihood that he was already dead.

Still, even if God himself had jumped off his fluffy cloud in Heaven and demanded I stay in place, I wouldn't have hesitated in whipping my car door open and running blindly into the smoking, burning, crumbling building. The thought entered my mind that I was probably running into my death in search of a corpse, but I allowed it to breeze by, unable and unwilling to care about my own life.

"Mello!" I screeched over the roaring, ripping flames. "MELLO!" I cried again, my voice already hoarse from the smoke. "_MELLO!_" The blazing inferno radiated waves of agonizing heat over by bare skin, growing hotter with every step. "Mels!" I rasped once more, before I listened. If Mello was conscience and alive he would have already heard me. So I listened with all of my being, searching past the infernal, deadly crackling for a sound that vaguely resembled something human. "Mello," I begged, searching through the flames and charred wood for blonde hair, for black leather, for pale skin... for _anything_.

"...Here..." I swear, if adrenaline hadn't sharpened my ears to that of a wolves', I wouldn't have heard it. "...Matt..." Again. I ran towards the sound, barely evading the licks of flame eagerly reaching for me.

"I hear you, Mello! Mello, I'm here, I-" A small crumpled figure lay on one of the only untouched patches of the ground. Mello. He was frozen in a collapsed crawling position, as if he had dragged himself from the ravenous mouth of the fire. And judging by his charred hair and clothes and the blood oozing from his left side, he had.

"Hurry," he choked.

I snapped into action. I scooped him too roughly into my arms, held him too tightly, and ran too fast from the building. Even so... somehow... somehow we both made it out.

Only then did I collapse. I vaguely registered the blaring of sirens, the jumbled shouting of voices, the rough prodding hands, and Mello being ripped from my arms... and then it went black.

* * *

**AN: Cliffie! Am I evil or what? So, did this live up to everyones expectations? Usually I find that 'mello-gets-burned' fics describe Mello's point of view. How did it come across with dear 'ol Matt? Thank you!**

**Oh! One last thing! I think the reason this fic is lacking in reviews (in comparison to A Visit To Wammys anyway) is due to my fail of a summary. Any suggestions? I would LOVE your help!**

**And... those of you reading my other fics should know that I have a strange love for the 'ringtone gag.' I think this fic deserved at least a LITTLE humor, ne? The song was Play, by... someone that's not me. XD**


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: I have bad news! Well... bad for you all anyway. I am leaving for Stagedoor Manor, an overnight camp in NY State and won't be back until 8/15. D: And there is NO INTERNET ACCESS! -collective gasp of horror-**

**And even after I'm back I will be working on my insane amounts of summer homework. General suggestion, if you want to keep your sanity, do NOT sign up for AP US History AND AP English Literature. :)**

* * *

Voices.

Noise.

So loud.

My eyelids fluttered.

"Angie!" A voice. Close. "Angela! He's waking up!"

I attempted to take in a deep breath, only to be thwarted by... something. In my mouth. In my _throat_.

"Take the tube out." A new voice. "He's choking."

I could breath. I sucked in a generous volume of air, only to release it in a violent hacking cough.

_Painful_.

My throat... swollen.

"Easy there. Calm, steady breaths. In. Out. In. Out."

I did as the voice commanded, and was relieved to find that I was breathing regularly. But my throat...

I cracked my eyes open... and snapped them closed.

White light. Beaming. Burning. Fire. _Mello_.

I launched up in bed, only to be reeled back down my gravity. My head spun.

I twitched my legs in impatience, and found them to be uncomfortably elevated and being pressed down by what felt like a massive blanked.

I shifted my arms, feeling out my surroundings. Soft. Heavy. Cotton.

_Yes, a blanket._

I tried to open my eyes once more, and cringed when the piercing, vindictive rays flooded into my eyes.

"Where am I?" Was that my voice? It was far too quiet, far too hoarse. But yet again, that throbbing, clawing pain in my throat...

"Can you sit up?"

"Are you sure that's safe, Angie?"

"He's stabilized. And don't call me _Angie_."

I nodded at the figure hovering above me. This Angie... or not, whatever... was wearing a bleach white jacket and scrubs- a doctor then- and seemed to be tall and thick, but that may have been just from my vantage point. I struggled into a sitting position, roughly shaking off the four hands that had come to help me, and detangled my legs from the blanket.

"What's up Doc?" That would have been much more funny if my voice hadn't sounded so raw.

Not-Angie didn't even twitch her old, wrinkled lips. The man standing next to her however, who didn't appear to be much older than I, awarded me with a half-hearted grin. I liked him better.

"You're going to be fine, you were very lucky, young man." The ugly woman adopted a cold, scolding voice, and I immediately felt like a small child being reprimanded for disrupting class.

"What's up with my throat?" I croaked.

"Slight smoke inhalation," the younger one piped up. "It wasn't too bad. You may have a sore throat and a cough for a while, but no damage was done."

"You also went into shock," the elder continued. "Like smoke inhalation, this could have been fatal, but you suffered only a slight attack."

The younger one plastered on a kindly, chiding smile, and my respect for him immediately went down the drain. Here came the dumbed down medical lesson. I inwardly groaned, but patiently listened, not willing to expend the energy or effort to stop him. "You went into shock because you had low blood pressure and because you weren't getting enough oxygen. When you don't have enough oxygen, all of your little organs get upset and want to stop working, so you fainted. Then, we put a special tube in your mouth to give you oxygen, and gave you drugs through an IV-" he paused for a moment before grasping the tube protruding from my arm. "This thing. That made your blood flow better! Now you're all better!"

Not-Angie rolled her eyes. Exactly my sentiment, lady. "We can't release you yet. We'll monitor you for tonight and you'll leave in the morning. Firstly, could you tell us your na-"

"Where's my friend?" I interjected, allowing true terror to leak into my grating voice.

She paused for a moment in deliberation, before fumbling through her stereotypical clipboard. "I'm sorry, he wasn't quite as lucky as you," she whispered.

My breath caught in my throat, and tears stung my eyes.

_No._

_ No, he couldn't be dead._

_ I saved him._

_ I saved him!_

_ So he can't be..._

_ ...he can't be..._

_ NO!_

"Calm down!" Hands gripped my shoulders. "Angie, what do I do?"

"Don't call me Angie!"

"_That _won't help!"

"Kid! Kid, your friends okay!" They must be lying. "He's fine!" I just saved him from a _fire_, he's not fine! "He's alive!" Please, God, let that be the truth. "He has bad burns, but he's stabilized!"

My sporadic breath calmed. How could my throat hurt even _more_?

"He just had a panic attack!"

"Yes, Todd. Now I understand why you're a straight-A student." Not-Angie released my forearms, and turned back to me. "Your friend has third degree burns on his chest, shoulder, and part of his face."

"W-will it scar?" How trivial. Why on Earth was that the first thought that popped into my mind?

She nodded solemnly. Todd looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid so," she said.

I grimaced. I certainly didn't care what Mello looked like. But Mello... "Is he in pain?" I asked, barely aware I was speaking.

"Not at the moment. We put him in a medically induced coma."

"That's when-" Todd began.

"Where is he?" I demanded.

"You can't see him now."

I gritted my teeth and jumped to them floor, glaring up at _Angie_ with a glare far more scorching than the blazing inferno I had barely escaped from, and ripped the _IV_ from my arm. "Where. Is. He."

Perhaps it was pity. Perhaps it was the raging desperation in my coating my voice. Or perhaps it was the unconscious, but nonetheless threatening clenching of my fists. But, Miss Stick Up The Ass Not-Angie relented with a curt nod, handed me some tissue for my bleeding arm, and turned out the door, fully expecting me to follow.

Walking down the white sterile hallway with nothing but a thin hospital garb to cover me... I felt so small and so very cold. It was a cold that ran deeper than the shivers ricocheting up my spine every time my bare foot slapped against the frigid tile, or even the light artificial breeze of air-conditioning that raised the tiny hairs on the back of my neck every time I passed a vent. My entire being was being frozen by a chill that radiated from my core.

People bustled through the halls all around me. Children who had been administered lollipops, power-walking nurses, pacing relatives, patients in wheelchairs, a girl on crutches, a broken arm, a severed hand. Worry, anxiety, and pain permeated the air, swirling around the running, limping, rolling, pacing people who all moved in a dance of miserable inclusion. Everyone knew their steps and everyone had a place. Except for me. No one so much as glanced my way.

_Am I invisible?_

Wide windows lined the halls, welcoming in sunshine whose warmth never reached me. As if the sun itself were an illusion, formed by the omnipresent white of the walls, ceiling, and tile.

I felt as if I were in a nightmare, simply because this seemingly benign hallway never seemed to end. Each whitewashed door passed by, only to be replaced by another, and I'm sure... no _positive_ that the faces of those in the exclusive synchronized dance of misery were the same. All the same... never ending...

A door swung open, and I blinked in surprise.

"Kid? You alright?"

I nodded, although I really wasn't.

"Right through here."

I glanced up at the sign of the door we entered- another infuriatingly white door- and read

_BURN CENTER_

I gulped and took a shaky step into the new wing. Why did they have to make the words so menacing? In all caps it's as if the letters are screaming, striving to shock the innocent viewer into reality.

_Slap-slap. Slap-slap. Slap-slap._

Now I could not only feel, but _hear_ my irksome footfalls.

This hallway was deserted.

All at once, I yearned for the horrible patients, doctors, and relatives that had so adamantly ignored me. At least with them there, my surroundings weren't so...

_Dead._

"He's in here." I jumped, and glanced up at the middle aged woman. "It's Stilt, by the way. Dr. Stilt."

I nodded absently and curled my fingers around the metal doorknob.

_At least the doorknobs aren't white_.

"I'll wait out here. Don't take too long, Kid," Dr. Stilt said.

I suppose it was assumed that I'd heard her, since she didn't protest when I shut the door in her face.

"Mello?" I called out timidly, stupidly. Hadn't they just told me he was in a coma?

I crept over to the side of the single bed lying in the center of the room. And there he was. I held in my gasp, struck by the desire not to offend him.

Mello looked so helpless.

In the large white room, on the wide white bed, trapped by the stiff white sheets, smothered by the fresh white bandages... Even his _skin_ was white. He looked so tiny, so frail...

I lifted a shaking hand and rested it by his head, curling my fingers into his tangled, bright yellow locks, almost as if to remind myself I wasn't colorblind, or perhaps that white wasn't the only color left on the face of the earth.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, although I didn't know quite why. Mello _had_ brought this upon himself... all of it, but I simply didn't have the heart to place the blame on his tiny, half burned shoulders. If I did, I'm sure they would have shattered.

I didn't know if he could hear me but... I somehow _needed _to speak to him. "It's good to see you again, Mello. And at least we're not in danger here, that much anyway. They asked me for my name, but I didn't tell them. Though it's only a matter of time..." I allowed my rambling to trail off, struck by the danger of our situation. "Oh God, Mello. I-I promise I'll get us out of this. I'll find a way."

The mafia would be after him, right? And if they found him in such a fragile state... I gulped. "We can't stay here for long, Mello, but I'll be here when you wake up. I promise." My voice cracked, and I rubbed at my eyes, almost astonished by the lukewarm wetness that had accumulated there.

Why did it feel like I was lying? Why did it feel like he _wouldn't_ wake up? I settled my hand on his chest, gently rising and falling, rising and falling... living.

"You're alive," I told him fervently. "You're still alive, and so am I." My voice almost gave out at the end. My throat felt so raw. It was burning. _Burning_. A strangled sob slipped passed my lips.

"I hope you won't be in too much pain... Mello... Mels..."

_KnockKnock_

The door opened without my consent.

"Time to leave, Kid."

I turned my head towards her, regarding her with a blank glare. "I need to stay."

She probably sensed I would not be torn from Mello's side. They would have to bring in at least six men to pin me down before they could tranquilize me and drag me out of here. Without another word, and with a final, maddeningly _pitying_ glance, she left us alone.

At least she didn't ask for our names.

* * *

**AN: You know what would make me feel better about being away from writing for so long? (it's actually phisically painful for me D: I get all creatively stifled) If I came home to find lots of reviews! Wow, that wasn't subtle at all.**

**On a side note... How do you guys like my new summary? Does it aptly capture the essence of this fic?**


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Hello everyone! I haven't dropped off the face of the Earth! ^^ -cheers- Oh kay, so if you haven't already heard my excuse for the later-than-late update from A Visit to Wammys House... here it is! You know how I said I'd be back from camp around the 15th? Well... turns out I fail epically at reading a calender! I actually WAS gone 3 weeks... it's just that 3 weeks actually ended two days ago... so... IT'S NOT MY FAULT I WAS BORN STUPID!**

**This is a short chapter, but I figured I'd give you something to tide you over until my updating becomes regular again. Don't know when that will be... lots of summer homework (which I am procrastinating at this very moment). Please read and forgive!**

**

* * *

BEEP**

I awoke with a startled jolt. After feverishly whipping my head from side to side and struggling to make sense of the bleary whitewashed world streaking past my vision, I allowed my chin to drop to my chest, in a state where I would be able to regain consciousness peacefully.

The momentary peace was only fleeting. As soon as my eyes registered the blank screen of my still-sleeping laptop perched on my lap, a dormant wave of worry and anxiety poured into my veins and wound up my tense muscles.

I shook my laptop to life and glanced at the time: 5:26 AM. Not bad. I had slept for a solid three hours. I pushed the laptop to the floor and hefted myself out of the mercifully comfortable chair in an attempt to stretch out my sore and weary limbs. All in all, I had recovered nicely. It had been only three days and I was good as new... sort of.

_Just a bit of sleep would do the trick._

_ You need to rest, Kid._

_ Go home. You were discharged days ago._

No. I had adamantly refused to sleep until Mello woke up... or at least _try_ not to sleep. I couldn't help it when my body shut down by its own accord. After all, there was much work to be done. I was well aware that every second we remained in one place increased our danger ten-fold. The second Mello woke up I was busting him out of here.

I retrieved my laptop from the floor and went back to what I was doing before my body had quit out on me... reviewing my research. I was fairly certain I knew everything I needed to know about burn treatment, and had gathered all of the supplies i would need, but it couldn't hurt to double check. That and I desperately needed a distraction. Mello, when will you wake up?

_He'll wake up when he's ready._

_ Don't worry, Kid, your friend will wake up soon._

_ Staying here won't make him wake up faster. Go home._

Damn it. The coma was medically induced... why can't they _un-_induce it. Mello can handle the pain, I got him a shit load of drugs.

"Mello." I walked over to his resting form. "You need to get up _now_, Mello. Please. I can't save us unless you wake _up_."

"Hey, Kid." I whirled around in shock to find Dr Stilt looming in the doorway. "You're still here?"

"Did you expect me to have magically disappeared?"

Stilt only shrugged and crossed the room matter-of-fact-ly. "I need to check his vitals. Step aside."

I complied automatically and flopped back into the plush chair where I instantly settled into the comfortable indent my butt had made.

With nothing else to do, I observed Dr Stilt perform her duties. Although she could be a cold, unfeeling harpy at times, I actually liked her the best out of all of the nurses and doctors who occasionally stopped by to check in on him. She didn't care about Mello any more than she cared if I had dropped off the face of the Earth, and she wasn't afraid to show it. Better cold indifference than strained smiles and hallmark-esque words of empty encouragement.

I broke out of my revery when the steady and practiced motions of the doctor suddenly froze. "Hey. Hey! Stilt! What's going on?"

She turned to me slowly, her cold expression filled with raw shock and bewilderment, and still, unsurprisingly, void of compassion. "He's awake. It's unheard of... with the severity of his injuries, he had at least five days to go. I need to call in some back up." And with that, she hurried out the door.

I didn't waste another precious second. "Mello!" I rushed to his bedside and grasped his hand. I nearly cried out in joy when I felt the small, feeble returning squeeze. Mello would have appeared exactly the same, same white skin, same bandages, same small, gaunt body, but for his eyelids, maniacally fluttering, struggling to open, struggling, struggling... And then... a pool of the deep azure I had craved for months. If only they weren't clouded by drugs and distant pain... "Mello." I repeated, smiling unabashedly as pent up tears slithered down my cheeks. "M-Mello."

"D-don't-" he hissed. "cry... stupid." I chuckled softly... how very like Mello... for his third word to be an insult.

I hastily rubbed at my eyes. "'m not cryin'. See?"

"Matt..."

"Yes?"

"Tired..."

"Then sleep, Mels. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up, then we'll bust out of here together." I mashed my lips together, stifling another sob, and lightly brushed my fingers against his unmarred cheek. I expected the skin to feel as translucent and breakable as it appeared, but instead in was soft, smooth, and so warm...

"Matt..." His eyes slipped shut.

"Yes?"

"You're... pretty..."

And a hoard of nurses armed with needles and tools tore me once again from his side.

_Soon, Mello... We'll get out of this together..._


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Time-skip!**

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"Mello! _Mello_! MEL-"

"Stop screaming you twit!"

"Oh!" I nearly jumped out of my skin when I spun around to find him casually propped against the doorframe. "Sorry Mels, but I thought you'd be in bed. Your leg-"

"My leg's fine!" He huffed, carefully springing out of the doorway in a slow, confident strut. A very _slow_ confident strut. I worried my lip, eyeing his deceptively fluid motion. Although graceful, Mello's walk clearly favored his left side. He threw himself onto the mattress, crossed his arms indignantly, and glowered upwards at the unsuspecting plaster. Although his glowering gaze never wandered my way, I could practically hear the words articulated by his expression.

_See, Matt? I'm tough. I don't __need__ rest._

Anyone who wasn't looking for it would have missed his minute flinch as his body connected with the surface of the bed.

Mello lay in silence for a moment before inclining his head in my direction. "Don't just stand there like an idiot. If I'm going to be in bed, I'll need chocolate."

I retreated out of the room briskly, almost grateful to be dismissed from his presence.

I suppressed a weary sigh as I sifted through our still unpacked suitcases and boxes. Without Mello up and about, there was no one to lecture my lazy ass into unpacking... even after living in our new fancy Japanese apartment for two weeks. Well... I supposed 'new' and 'fancy' were relative terms. The living conditions were fairly modest, but compared to the crumbling crimescene we were living in before, we may as well be living at the Ritz.

"Found it," I murmured to myself. Even after getting Mello back, I hadn't quite given up the habit of talking to myself.

Still, Mello hadn't been a particularly amiable companion as of late... not that amiable could _ever_ describe the crazed genius. But being bedridden... or at least being _told_ to be bedridden... Mello had become, if possible even _more_ high maintenance.

"Here's the chocolate." I tossed the bar to the bed where Mello caught it one handed... while looking the other way.

Mello had always been a bit of a ninja.

Actually, I mused, as I settled down into my newly acquired _green_ awesome cushy beanbag chair, Mello resembled a ninja in many ways.

He wore all black.

He could fight.

He was eerily graceful and silent.

He was lethal.

He was freaking awesome.

And he was way cooler than a pirate any day.

Yes. I nodded decisively. Mello was a ninja

But now the real question is... do ninjas eat chocolate?

"MATT!"

"Gah!" I jumped out of my beanbag chair only to fall with a muted and reassuringly comfortable thud.

"God, you're jumpy today," Mello snipped.

"Well _you've_ been getting out of bed all day!" I shot back.

"Matt, would you _please_ shut up. You're so fucking annoying."

"Sorry!" I mashed my lips together in a hard line, forcing them against tilting upwards into a smile. Mello, however rudely, had said _please_.

He shifted in the bed, angling his face away from me and effectively declared our conversation terminated. I merely shrugged and pulled my DS out of my pocket, smiling at the tell-tale sounds of violently ripping foil.

I loaded an old game in contentment. Yes, contentment. Ever since our dangerous, illegal, painful, and soul-crushingly _stressful_ move to Japan, I had developed an odd, constant tingling in my chest. Although it came in waves and dulled at times, it never failed to spurt tiny waves of warm comfort that I may dare to call a little taste of... _happiness_.

Strictly speaking, it was illogical to be feel any small semblance of that elusive emotion now of all times. Sure, Mello wasn't dead or in immediate danger, but he was still dealing with a painful recovery. Granted, Mello rarely ignored me for long periods of time and conversed with me daily, but he still seemed pretty far from actually _caring_ for me. And yes, Mello wasn't out and about, prowling through a line of fire to get a glimpse of Kira, but he certainly hadn't given up the chase. In fact, he was closer than ever, hence our move to Japan of all places. Not that I had anything against Japan... all the coolest newest games were here, and I could get them for cheep...

The final crack of chocolate rang through the air with a piercing intensity that only Mello could manage. He grimaced and fidgeted, staining his concentrated, omnipresent fury with a tinge of anxiety.

I had to duck when the ball of tinfoil was hurtled blindly towards my head. "Are you okay, Mels?"

He snapped his head towards me, his eyes revealing pure surprise and what may have once been innocence, before fogging over once again an ambiguous pool of azure. From the angle his head was turned, the unhealed burns on his cheek pressed into what should have been a comfortable and smooth comforter. I wondered how the soft material felt on his raw, charred skin.

I winced at the thought. I had been burned before, multiple times actually. It wasn't uncommon for me to waste a cigarette, simply staring into space lost in bleak and usually dark musings while the lit cigarette simply burned away to ash, the tip scalding my fingers as if in resentment of being ignored. The burns were always small, always first degree, and always hurt worse than two eraser sized patches of skin had any damn right to. I simply couldn't comprehend the level of pain that Mello was in, must still _be_ in. Just thinking of the blond's injuries made my skin tingle and itch, as if in an attempt to feel vicarious pain.

Mello had pushed his body beyond its limits, striving for recovery at a rate that would almost certainly be detrimental to his health. And definitely wouldn't help the pronounced scar engulfing a third of his face.

It was easy to blame Mello for his unhealthy recovery, for his prominent scars, deepened by premature cracking and bleeding and ripped bandages, and for his slight limp, born of Mello's insistence on walking, even when his coma-weakened muscles couldn't handle it. However, it was easier still to blame myself. Couldn't I have let him have a few more days in the hospital? Couldn't I have better persuaded him to stay in bed? Couldn't I have been quicker to apply ointments and bandages? Couldn't I have found a way to calm Mello's frustrations, to ease his pain?

Really, it was all my fault.

Not that I hadn't realized before now... but the world wasn't _fair_. If I'm responsible for so much of Mello's pain, shouldn't I be allowed to feel it as well? Why can't I simply sap the pain from his body and take it into mine? I deserve pain more than he does.

"Mello," I repeated. "Does it hurt?"

"Of course it hurts, you idiot," he growled, twisting his face into an expression that couldn't have been comfortable for his fresh scars, still stiff, pink, and painful to the touch. I shrunk back in remorse. If only I could find the right things to say, Mello wouldn't hurt himself. As if in response to my thoughts, Mello's face relaxed into a softer and hopefully less painful expression. "S'not so bad," he amended. A blatant lie he had told many times before.

"I'll get the ointment."

"No!" Mello shot into a sitting position, then seemed to wobble for a moment, dazed. I could practically see the spots dancing before his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment before snapping them open, magical clarity accompanying the sudden movement. "I need to tell you about my research."

"Is that what you were doing? I told you that you shouldn't-"

"And I told _you_ that I do whatever the fuck I want!"I bit my lip and lowered my gaze to the carpet. The unassuming, off-white flooring held a lot less fury and condemnation than Mello's glare. It also lacked the tendency to make my chest constrict painfully with each razor edged word. Probably because carpets couldn't talk... "Matt," Mello's considerably softer voice urged my gaze upwards, as if my eyes were a magnet, repelled by shouting and course language and attracted by comfort and whispers. "I- I'm..."_ Sorry_, my mind supplied. "Just listen, okay?" My chest swelled at the unspoken apology and I bit back a smile, giving him a curt nod in its stead. "You know that chick you've been stalking?"

"Observing analytically for the sole purpose of research. Yes?"

The corner of Mello's mouth twitched at my correction. "I'm positive she's the second Kira. And you know her boyfriend?"

"Light Yagami? The dude she practically has a shrine for in her closet?"

"Yes, well he-" Mello cut himself off, quirking an eyebrow. "She has a shrine for him?"

"Yup."

"Crazy psycho bitch."

"I would know that better than anyone," I affirmed, suppressing a shudder. Most guys would kill to watch a supermodel like Misa Amane as a living, but after only four days of observation, I was almost ready to beg her to write my name in the Death Note. Of course... most guys aren't gay, so...

"Light Yagami is Kira," Mello concluded.

"How did you-"

"Not important," he waved me off with a smug grin, thoroughly pleased with his own brilliance. "What _is_ important is... I know how to catch him."

My jaw dropped and my game flashed the GAME OVER sign. I simply pocketed it, not even bothering to turn it off. Fuck batteries, this whole Kira mess could be _over_. "C-catch him? For good?"

"I'll need your help."

My chest swelled with unbridled joy. This may just be the best day of my life! Kira's going to be finished, and Mello just said he _needed_ my help! "I- I," I floundered, unable to form my racing, backflipping thoughts into a intelligible sentence. "I can't believe we _lived_. We made it out alive, Mello! He didn't kill us first!"

As my haze of shocked joy gave way to coherency, I noticed for the first time that Mello's face did not reflect my own relieved euphoria. Instead he looked... sad, and almost... remorseful? "Matt..." he began, his soft voice steady and concentrated, "just listen to the plan."

...

Oh.

...

_Oh_.

...

Well, shit.

By the time he was finished detailing his oh-so-masterful plan, I was curled up in a ball, nestled into what suddenly felt like a very hostile beanbag chair.

"Matt... Matt, are you listening?" He snapped his fingers in front of my wide unfocused eyes. I didn't flinch. "Matty..." he pleaded. He sprung off the bed and shuffled forwards until he was crouched before me, and struggled to plaster on a grin. "Hey. We'll be fine." He barked out a chilling mono-tonal laugh, void of any humor or sincerity. "You're acting like I told you we were going to die or something." He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it came across as serious as the statement was.

Because in all honesty, he _had_ just detailed my impending suicide.

This plan of his... it _was_ brilliant. If we could successfully kidnap Kira's little mouthpiece, the killer was sure to misstep, and gathering evidence would be a simple matter. But with the level of security around the damn woman... and the brutality of Kira's regime...

_Kill all criminals, and all who stand in my way._

That was us. We were going to die.

And with just a momentary glance into Mello's eyes, I knew he knew it too.

But... better to die than to lose.

Mello allowed his half-assed smile to crumble, well aware that his thin veil of optimism wouldn't change the future. "So, Matt... Matty. Will you help me?"

He may have thought he was giving me a choice, an actual chance to decide my own destiny, my own fate, but little did he know...

"Yes."

I had signed away my life to him long ago.

* * *

**AN: I think we all know what happens next, but still... SUSPENSE!**


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: I know, I know, I know! I'm a horrible person and blah dee blah dee blah. After only a week of Junior year, I realized that weekly updates are NOT going to happen this year. I'm at a point in my life where everything is happening at once and I'm expected to do so many things, and SOMETHING'S gotta give. Unfortunately, that would be my fanfiction.**

**I think we need a recap! :) So... basically, at this point, Mello has told Matt their plans for tomorrow which is... a suicide mission. -sob- If we're sticking to canon, we should all be very familiar with the heavily alluded to event to come. :(**

**So... get you tissues ready! It's time for chapter 18 of Living Justice!**

* * *

The day began just like any other. I smacked at my alarm three times before reluctantly admitting to my shattered slumber. I tugged my goggles on. I grabbed a pop-tart and ate it untoasted, figuring the effort it took to heat it wasn't worth the slightly improved taste. I traded my set of dirty, unwashed clothes for another. Red and green stripes today. I brushed my teeth so quickly it probably didn't do much good. And I wandered in to Mello's room to wake him, pills and ointment in hand.

And that was where my beloved normalcy forever ceased.

Mello was already awake and dressed, not in the baggy sweatpants or the black cotton shirts he has been wearing, but in his full mafia attire. If it weren't for the slight rise and fall of his shoulders, I could have mistaken him for a piece of the furniture, or rather, a masterfully sculpted work of art.

He was deadly still.

He stood planted at the far side of the room, staring at the window, or at least faced in it's direction.

Somehow, I knew Mello wasn't simply appreciating the scenery.

"Um... hey," I whispered as softly as I could manage, unwilling to destroy the spell of his silent concentration.

He turned to me slowly, rotating on the balls of his feet with a fluidity that only he could manage in chunky black platform boots.

_It's just for height,_ he had once huffed. _The fact that I'm almost as tall as my men is impressive and intimidating, __not__ feminine._

They certainly didn't look feminine now. Mello looked absolutely menacing. Maybe it was because I hadn't seen him like this for so long. It may have been the outline of the gun in his sleek leather pants that set me on edge. Perhaps it was his scar, a dark shadow on his face implying tales far from innocent. Or maybe it was just because I knew the occasion for this attire.

"Pills," I choked out. "And ointment. I have-"

"Not today." Mello turned back to the window. "I need to stay sharp."

"Right." Without another word, I set down the bottle and tube and padded across the room to gaze out the window.

Below us was a fluster of activity. The sidewalks were cluttered with bustling pedestrians, shuffling, jostling, and colliding in a manor that almost looked artful. Amidst the whizzing cars and the blaring horns, each individual was lost in their own little world, dashing towards a fixed destination at a set time and only pausing long enough to holler at whoever dared dart in their way.

How blissfully unaware they were that they were only a small part of a portrait. A tiny snapshot of vibrant colors, hooded faces, and spiffy suits that even in it's insignificance, was larger than the thousands of individuals involved. I imagined for a moment that the edges of the window, the ends to my blunted line of vision were as final as they appeared to me. As soon as each cluster of school children, each businessman, each dog, each car slipped into it, they ceased to exist. And not one of them saw it coming. They skipped merrily towards a fictitious goal far beyond what would be their deaths.

It was easy to pity the ignorant.

But what if one of them, one tiny worthless individual _knew_ what lay ahead. Would they stop? It's hard to say. But if they didn't, I would be hard pressed to pity them as well.

"Unworthy," Mello spoke in a husky whisper. "They're all unworthy."

"But you're not doing it for them, are you?" I replied softly, catching onto his unspoken allusion to the task that lay ahead.

"For L," Mello affirmed.

"And to beat Near." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flip of blond hair, revealing an enraged face with what could have been a provocative retort on it's lips. Then, as if it was a mere trick of the eye, it melted away. I flickered my eyes over towards him, and was mildly surprised to find an uncharacteristically calm and contemplative expression set into Mello's face.

"I suppose you're right."

_You're right_.

The words swelled my chest with pride while simultaneously twisting a knife set deep in my gut. Mello may have generously agreed with me, but what he agreed to... Mello, at least in part, was throwing his life away for a stale rivalry.

"What about you?" I felt rather than saw his cool azure eyes rest upon my face, asking, no, _demanding_, compliance.

And almost willingly, I shifted my eyes to lock with his. "What?"

"Why are you following me?"

"I always follow you." Mello seemed to understand that the simplicity of the words bellied their depth and meaning.

"You don't have to. Matt." He grasped my hair and violently tugged, snapping my head towards him. My whimper of pain died in my throat, it dissipated along with my breath as I gazed into Mello's eyes. Bright, livid, and _concerned_. His face was twisted with selfless worry and pain. All for me. For _me_. And I could only stare at him like an idiot. "Matt!" He grabbed my shoulders none too gently and shook me in exasperation. "You don't have to follow me! You know that, right?"

"Yes! Um, I... Yeah. I know."

Is it strange that hours, or even minutes, before I was prepared to essentially drive into my grave, my very life seemed so _insignificant_?

"Okay." Mello shrugged, though his eyebrows remained knitted in concern. He loosened his grip on my shoulders and slid his hands down my arms in a stupid, meaningless, utterly pointless caress that served neither Mello nor I in any tangible way. And perhaps that was why we were both smiling by the time his warm, calloused hands encircled my own.

"It's time." He released my left hand and squeezed my right reassuringly, as we slowly walked, hand in hand, out of the apartment.

For the last time.

It struck me when the door clicked shut that unlike every "first" that is documented and celebrated in most people's lives, the "lasts" are hardly noticed. I ate breakfast for the last time this morning. A pop-tart... what a waste. I slept for the last time last night. That's a shame, I've always liked sleeping.

I hadn't noticed.

I studied my combat boots, clomp, clomp, clomping down the stairwell. Each step slow, yet purposeful. I wondered which of these steps would be my last. Will I notice it while it's happening or after it's passed?

My steps were numbered.

My breaths were numbered.

Each solitary thump of my heart, increasing in pace at these belated realizations, were numbered.

And just like that, my feet stilled. I glanced up at Mello questioningly, and noticed that we were standing between my crimson Camaro and Mello's sleek black motorcycle.

Here it was.

According to the plan, we were supposed to get into our vehicles, and drive off in opposite directions... Forever? Death wasn't part of the plan, but it lingered in the air at the end of each briefing... not a death sentence, but a death promise.

I needed to get into the car, and I didn't move. Mello needed to climb onto his bike, and he didn't budge. His hand, instead of releasing mine, squeezed it tighter.

Instead of walking away, he leaned closer, closer still, until his chocolate scented breath ghosted across my lips. I slipped my eyes shut even before our lips connected.

Our third kiss.

And almost definitely our last.

It wasn't rough and vulgar, not was it injected with love. It was hardly a kiss at all. For only a moment, his lips brushed against mine. A caress so very gentle and soft, that I knew it was not for the purpose of a kiss in itself. It was a substitute. A sweet, delicate, passionate action in place of words he could not utter.

It spoke of love.

It spoke of trust.

It spoke of grievance.

It spoke of sorrow.

It spoke of regret.

It spoke of acceptance.

It whispered a bitter, beautiful goodbye.

He pulled away with finality and took one step back. Close enough to touch... and yet no longer touching.

"Thank you."

It was those words, whispered with such sincerity that brought tears to my eyes. Through my blurring vision, cleared every few seconds with rapid blinks, I could still see him clear as ever.

The skin tight leather he wore to shut out the world. The sorrowful expression that had dropped all facades. His glowing, golden hair, as yellow as it had been in his innocent childhood, yet cropped to match his dangerous appearance. And his eyes, oh his eyes. Deep sparkling pools of azure, of melted ice, of liquified hatred, of glittering pain, and of what might have become love.

For a moment, I imagined. I imagined that Mello would give his life for me just as I would for him. That he would drive off on his motorcycle on a suicide mission just for _me_. So that _I_ wouldn't die alone. A tiny smile graced my lips.

Even as the fantasy faded, my ghost of a grin did not falter. He may not be dying for me, but hey, I wouldn't give up anything for my life either. My life was meaningless and insignificant, a tiny overlooked glitch in the web of humanity. Mello on the other hand...beautiful, brilliant, passionate Mello...

Now there was something I'd give up anything I had for. Even my own pitiful life.

As if following unwritten choreography, we simultaneously turned towards our vehicles. It was alright though. When I closed my eyes, I could still _see_ him. I hoped that when my eyes slipped shut for the final time, his vision would remain.

What a pleasant way to die. With Mello in my head. With Mello on my lips. For Mello.

To die for Mello is everything I could have ever wanted and I'm...

I'm happy.

I heard Mello rev his bike, and I shoved my key into the ignition.

We drove through the empty parking lot, still together in a sense, and came to a stop at the very edge, just before the empty, threatening rode.

I turned my head towards him for one more look. Just one more look. And I fund he had done the same.

I was to turn left, and he right, and that would be that, and yet... I couldn't tear my eyes from him.

He opened his mouth to speak and...

SCREECH

I jumped at the obnoxious sound of protesting tire and blinked in confusion and disconnected fear at the beat up limousine that had pulled in front of us. Blocking our only exit.

Was this simply a part of the plan Mello had forgotten to tell me? One glance at Mello's shocked and unsurprisingly enraged face told me this was not the case.

Though the front window was not tinted, I couldn't get a decent look at the driver, as he was shrouded in a black hood. He slapped a scribbled note onto the window.

**Mihael Keehl.**

** Mail Jeevas.**

** Come with me or I'll tell Kira. Drop your weapons and enter the vehicle.**

"The fuck do you know!" Mello cried. "Put that away!"

**I vow not to kill you if you come with me. ** Read a second note. **Do not yell, Mihael.**

"My fucking name is Mello! Don't-"

I leapt out of my car and slapped my hand over his mouth. "Don't provoke him! We have no choice!"

Mello shoved me aside, dramatically dropped his two guns, and entered the car.

I followed.

* * *

AN: ...And who said I was staying canon? Haha! I'm so evil! I built that up so much! So this fic is NOT OVER YET. In fact, it's probably about halfway done. I love you all, and I hope you love me for saving our favorite suicidal redhead and homicidal blond! So... any guesses? Who do you think is in the car? I'll give you a hint... it's NOT an OC!


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: I AM ALIVE! Hey everybody... I don't know if any of you remember me or this fic, but I have decided, after over a year, to continue writing fanfiction. I have no excuses, nor any delusions that I'll ever be as loved or popular as I once was, but please give me a chance again. If you'd like to read more of my rambling, see the author's note at the bottom**

* * *

_Click_

The locking limousine doors shouldn't have sounded so menacing. After all, Mello and I were on the _inside_ of the vehicle: the lock lay within our reach. The only logical reason the driver locked the doors was to frighten Mello and I, to remind us that we, in fact, _were_ being held here by force - blackmailed and utterly powerless. This conclusion, however, failed to slow my erratic heartbeat and to diminish the urge to grab Mello, shove open the door, and dive into the street, running, screaming, and ultimately dying...

Intelligence and logic are utterly useless when internal trauma is the only defeatable obstacle.

I scanned interior of the vehicle, actively suppressing the silly musing that I had always _wanted_ to be in a Limo and oh how _exciting_. There weren't any windows that hadn't been blacked out. Even the wall in front of us was smooth, solid, stainless steel. No cracks, no transparencies. We weren't given so much as a glimpse of the driver's hooded head. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the movement of the limo. We were on Breach St now so...

Left... Thatcher Rd...

Left... Autumn Ln... or maybe Spruce...

Right... or was that just a turn in the road?

Left...

Left...

Left...

"He's driving in circles," Mello hissed.

"I know," I sighed, settling into the soft leather.

An electronic crackling noise emitted from the roof... speakers? I didn't see any...

"_Hello, boys_"

Mello emitted a low growl, and I eyed him imploringly. "It's L's voice modulator," he whispered. "Whoever it is knows-"

"_Mihael, please do not whisper. Someone with your education should know how to properly behave in a hostage situation._"

"It's _Mello_," he snapped, darting his narrowed eyes about the even, innocent seats. "Besides... as someone who presumably ordered our blackmail and kidnapping, it is _not_ in your best interest to assist the hostage."

"Mello! Don't provoke-"

"_It's quite alright, Matt_," the voice blared. My head pounded. Couldn't he turn down the volume? A random interrogation technique materialized in my mind: furtively and gradually increase the subject's discomfort. "_I'm pleased to find Mihael's spirit is still intact. Matt, while I'm pleased to hear you are prepared for a hostile situation, I can assure you my attentions are benign. This is not a kidnapping._"

Mello snorted. "You _did_ kidnap us... Near."

A quiet 'tsk' could be heard through the speakers. "_Never jump to conclusions, Mihael._"

"It's Mello!"

"_You really needn't be so cautious. I can assure you Kira has neither the method of infiltrating these lines nor the motive._"

"Thanks. I feel _so_ assured," he drawled.

"Fucking hell, Mello," I muttered. Whether or not our captor had malevolent intentions, sarcastic comments were _not_ appropriate at the moment. I sighed and slipped my DS out of my pocket. I don't hold any delusions that anything I could say would compel Mello to play nice with our unknown kidnapper. I, at least, will remain on good terms with him.

...Sweet... 1UP...

I have to wonder why I chose Mario to be the last game to ever click into my DS, the game that was destined to inhabit my pocket in death. Although I would like to imagine my subconscious realized that Mario was the first game I played and should consequently be my last, if I were to honestly assess the situation, I would come to the conclusion that the choice of Mario wasn't a choice at all - it was mere coincidence. Nevertheless, Mario was comforting.

"You are _not_ playing your damn games."

"I'm playin' Mario," I affirmed.

"Matt." Mello growled in a concentrated, muted whisper. I had every confidence that our mysterious captor could still hear every word. "We're being driven to who the fuck knows where and instead of _helping_ me get the hell out, your melting your brain with _this_."

He snatched the consul from my hands and dangled it mockingly before my face.

"Mels! Give it back!" I snatched at it, but he darted away, across leather seats, armrests, a cooler, and carpeted floors. Damn Limousine.

Without any real malice, I dove across the seats and tackled him to the floor.

"Matt! Jesus!" He laughed.

"Give it!" I laughed.

We tumbled, and shoved, and grabbed, and tears pooled in my goggles.

We lay panting on the carpet.

My gameboy pressed into my chest, Mello's limp fingers still around it. My leg - under a cushion. Mello's knee - wedged between the cooler and a seat.

My heart was beating, beating. I could hear Mello panting, panting.

_I am alive_ I realized. _We're still alive_.

Mello's face was stained with tears; they rolled down his pale, puffed cheek, around the winding scar tissue, twisting round his grinning lips.

I had to yank off my goggles to pour the tears out. I sopped my eyes with my sleeve and untangled myself from the cushion, from Mello, from my mind.

I extended a hand him, but it hovered in space, unnoticed. The limo buzzed underfoot, rumbling through the pristine carpet, my toes, my knees, bouncing the tips of Mello's splayed hair. I let my hand drop. His eyes were wide, and glassy, empty of tears and empty of focus, of drive.

_What do I do now?_ they beg the shrouded sky.

I touched his glistening scar, and he flinched. "That must hurt," I murmured. "The tears..."

His eyes unfroze and rolled toward me. He grasped my lingering hand as the grin dropped from his lips. "I didn't cry."

"Mels..." I chided.

"I didn't." He groped at the cooler and pulled himself up. "I don't cry." He crashed onto a seat. He splayed his legs and hung his arms over the back. His muscles locked into a relaxed posture. His face melted into a calm, hard mask.

If it weren't for the tears still staining his cheek and his right hand, twitching and grasping at air in place of chocolate, he would look exactly as I had imagined he would appear when he worked at the base: he was a dominant force, a ticking time bomb, a man fully aware of the pistols aimed at his skull.

Mello was happy to be alive, or at least as shocked with relief as I was, but he had arrived at the next step before I could - survival. He would live until his enemies were dead and his goals met, and me... I would follow.

The light hum beneath me stopped.

"_Boys, we have arrived at our destination. There are blindfolds behind the cooler. I would request that you utilize them."_

Mello visibly ground his teeth, but sprung toward the cooler nevertheless. Once our visions were obscured, I heard the door open, replacing still air with the dull roar of cars, of chatter, of meaningless, stirring life.

I waited for Mello to whisper plans or codes, to grab me and flee, to show some indication that he was in control, but he was as silent as our captor, who led us up stairs and around corners with gentle, whispered words and the soft pressure of thin, boney fingers.

A scuffle and a beep. A buzz and a breath.

"You may remove the blindfolds." That voice... it was deep... familiar... English.

I ripped off the clothe and spun around.

I gaped in horror and stumbled back.

A blindfold fell out of Mello's frozen hand.

He was dead... he was dead... he was dead.

"You are dead," Mello whispered. "It can't be you..."

"Who are you?" My voice shook, my knees locked, and my hammering heart threatened to pound, break, splatter. I stared into the eyes of a dead man. The livid pitch eyes of a ghostly, living, dead man.

"I am L," he shrugged, "and I am most certainly alive."

* * *

"**Nice, dramaq, ending with even MORE suspense! Did anyone see that coming? Does anyone REMEMBER if they saw that coming?**

**So here's why I came back to this: Over Thanksgiving break I had nothing to do. For whatever reason, I was inspired to sit down and read every pice of fanfiction I've written. EVERYTHING. Published and unpublished. Every half-ass idea and EVERY review. I was filled with nostalgia and a deep sense of guilt. Everyone on this site (except for those fanfiction Nazis, does anyone even remember them anymore?) has been so kind and supportive.**

**Fanfiction was why I started writing. But... after a point, I started feeling overwhelmed with the goals I set for myself and with loads of schoolwork. As it turned out, I was working almost every minute of my Junior year. It was impossible to continue writing. Also, I took up writing original fiction.**

**One of my greatest fears about returning to this site was that my writing would have changed so much that it'd be unrecognizable. I hope that my new skills and style won't change the characters or the message, and I hope that everyone will still enjoy reading my work.**

**One more thing, although I am returning to this site, I won't resume working at the pace I had been: I've learned my lesson. I'll pop out a chapter when I have spare time, and hopefully (given that I am an increasingly lazy senior) I will begin to have a lot more time to spare.**

**If you have read this far, thank you! I forgot how much this site meant to me... I believe writing will be a life-long passion, and it's thanks to everyone's support that I believed in myself enough to work at me know if I still have any old readers! It's been a year and a half since I BEGAN this piece! I love you all!**


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Hello everyone! So I kept my promise, and I updated eventually! Yay!**

**I'm seriously hoping I'll have a lot more free time now because guess what? I GOT INTO COLLEGE EARLY DECISION! I'm SOOO pumped! It's a small liberal arts school with writing, theatre, and nerd-dom so I'm stoked. If anyone wants to know what SPECIFIC college it is, just ask and I'll PM you. :)**

**So enjoy chapter 20! Oh! And Happy New Year! ...yes I know I'm an hour late...**

* * *

I have to be dead.

I am far from familiar surroundings, my DS is dead, my pockets are void of cigarets, Mello is stone beside me, and L is living before me. An illusion of life. If L hadn't died, surely his successors wouldn't have been told he had. Surely we would have been spared the grief, the responsibility, the misery. Surely Mello wouldn't have been ripped from my side, ending our childhood and killing our innocence. The smoke of his gun and the blood on my wrist.

I struggled to remember death, to recall the drive away from Mello, the car chase, the police; it was all meticulously mapped out in my mind, but the images were no more than plans and expectation, a ghost of death that turned the tarot cards, shifted the ouija board, spun the pendulum, but failed to materialize.

Can I be dead without having died?

L's eyes widened and focused; they were the lens of a camera, the butt of a gun. Colder and sharper than I had remembered.

"Y-you're alive," Mello's voice trembled.

L blinked. "Yes, I know this must be shocking. Unfortunately it wasn't prudent to inform you of my choice until now."

"Your _choice_." Mello's fists clenched with his teeth and his voice expanded with his body, filling the small foyer. In all his petit glory, he loomed over L.

"Mels," I soothed, grabbing his clenched fist.

Mello flung me off blindly, narrowly avoiding punching me in the face. "You _chose_ to tell us you were dead."

"Yes. It was appropriate."

"You didn't choose a successor, you let us believe you were dead for years, you _destroyed_ our lives, and you _still_ haven't captured Kira?" The words slithered out of Mello's clenched teeth, quite, controlled, and venomous.

"I summoned you both here to assist me in doing just that. I could have waited a few more months of course, but I thought it wise to circumvent your foolish kidnapping scheme."

With a feral cry, Mello sprung. A thud and a crash and L was on the floor, oozing blood and serenity.

Mello glanced at his bloodied fist and L's bloodied face, seething, sputtering, shaking. He bolted, not out the door but deeper into the loft.

Crashes and curses and silence.

L sighed and rolled onto the balls of his feet. Unperturbed, he prodded his nose and examined the blood that cling to his fingertips.

"S-sorry."

"I expected as much."

A single drop of blood broke from the smear and rolled down his face. A tear carving a trail of blood. L did nothing. He crossed his eyes and tilted his head in a futile attempt to see what lay just under his nose. He was blind to the blood staining his face, and his hands lay limp, tired and useless.

"Where's the bathroom?"

"To the left, third door on the right," he mumbled through still lips. The blood was undisturbed.

I found the bathroom easily and gathered toilet paper and hand towels. I tossed out the toilet paper flower and destroyed the neatly folded towels. It seemed so egregious that a housekeeper or an employee of the building could infringe upon the hideout of the world's three greatest dead detectives. Then again... there was no toothbrush on the counter, no pictures on the wall, no footmarks on the fluffy beige carpet other than where I had stepped. This must be a new location for L.

I peered further down the hall before returning. The hallway seemed endless. Clean white walls carved with naked white doors, all leading to a sharp turn. Are we living in a maze?

I sighed and turned back. Perhaps L had Near here too. He'd find his true successor by putting Near and Mello in the center of the loft. Whoever finds his way out first wins. A truly genius idea. Plus, Mello couldn't simply kill Near since he'd blend in with all the white...

L hadn't moved, and the blood had stopped flowing on its own. Regardless, I set about restoring L's face to white. Gingerly, gingerly. When I had cleaned Mello's wounds, I had worried about hurting him and I had worried about angering him, but I hadn't worried about breaking him. L was a porcelain doll, still and cold beneath the warm blood. He was frozen, and he was breathless. He did not blink, and he did not sway, despite his unsteady crouch.

_I wonder if this is what a mortician feels like..._

"Done." I was almost surprised to see smooth, unbroken skin beneath my towel.

"Perhaps you would like to know why I died." Not a word of thanks, not a glimmer of approval. I nodded. Perhaps Near mirrored L's appearance, and Mello mirrored his manners.

Mello...

Is it really alright to talk to L by myself? To leave Mello alone and angry with no one to yell at, to threaten, or to ignore...

L rose and tromped down the hallway, and I scurried after. Mello had always put L above me. L was the being and ideal with the highest value when L was living and when he was dead. Does that change now that he's both? Should I follow L rather than Mello?

"I want cake."

I had to wonder whether he was talking to me or to himself, or if he even knew I was still trailing behind him.

Two turns beyond the first was a small kitchenette. Two refrigerators stood side by side, framed with bare white counter. In the center was an island with sparkling pearl and silver granite.

"Would you like some cake?"

My stomach would have certainly liked some - a pop-tart isn't much of a breakfast, no matter how freaking delicious it is - but something about consuming L's cake seemed perfectly blasphemous, and I imagined the frosting would choke and kill me. I'd be as dead as the man slouching before me.

"No, thank you."

The fridge was stacked with cakes of every shape and size. A single slice lay on each individual plate, filling the space of every shelf.

"Cake slices," L opened the first refrigerator again. "Cakes," L opened the second to present a fridge stacked with full cakes in large, clear tupperware. "This is the cake eating kitchen. You may take slices as you desire. The other kitchens are for making and baking. Please do not enter."

He took his perch on the stool beside me and lowered a morsel of cake into his waiting mouth. He chewed slowly and mechanically, his eyes still and empty. Does the cake bring him any pleasure at all? Does he eat can because he wants to because he can, or because he always has?

All of L's attention was focussed on his simple task. Fork to cake, cake to mouth. Scrape, chew, swallow. Did he simply forget about me?

"L... will you tell me-"

"I would ask you to no longer call me L." He told his fork around a mouthful of cake.

"Why?"

"I am not L, not anymore. L is dead."

"Okay..." Perhaps L _is_ dead, truly dead. Perhaps this man is an impostor, a fraud who somehow knows our names and our personalities, and magically looks exactly like him... It seems illogical, but so does L's behavior. "Should I call you Ryuuzaki then?"

_Clang_. "No!" He raised his clenched fist from the counter. "No." He pulled and rubbed and groped at a shining object on his wrist. A bracelet? No. It was a handcuff. A chain didn't dangle from it and there was no other side. It was just the cuff clamped around his wrist, hanging and rubbing on his pale pink raw wrist.

"Um... sorry." I shrank into my seat. This was definitely L... it had to be. Still... whether his heart still beat or not, death had changed him.

"I am no longer L, so all that's left is Lawliet. Call me Lawliet."

"Is that your name? Is that what L stands for?"

"I am Lawliet."

My thoughts flickered to Mello, alone and fuming God knows where, and _I_ had found out L's real name before _him_. Now he was really going to kill me...

"I know who Kira is, and I cannot catch him alone."

If I had been eating cake, I would have choked on it. "W-what? You know?"

"Haven't you discovered his identity as well?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then why wouldn't I?"

"But you haven't caught-"

"Of course not!"

"But you should-"

"Have _you_ caught him yet?"

"We would have!" I burst.

L dropped his eyes to his naked, cake-less plate. "A suicide mission and a piece of vital evidence is not proof and it is not success." He scraped the fork over the smeared icing and lifted the fork until it dangled inches from his lips. "To die is to lose." His tongue darted out and captured the speck of blue frosting like a vile, vapid reptile.

"So... why did you die?"

L leapt off his stool and dropped his plate into the trash bin by the sink.

"Why did you throw out-"

"So many questions." L straightened and fixed his gaze on the window above the sink. The sky was clear and so pale it almost blended in with the walls. "I do no like doing dishes. And as for your previous question, I died in order to survive. I lost in order to someday win. Light Yagami is Kira, but Light Yagami is not Kira." L swiveled his head, and drilled his eyes into mine. Marble pitch, they were no longer quite as dead. "I need to separate Light Yagami from Kira."

"B-but... _What_?"

"That will be all. I suggest you find Mello."

L returned to his stool and to his crouch and nibbled his thumb, eyes fixed on the naked wall.

His mind is either filled with theories and calculations, whirring numbers and sophisticated philosophy... or simply nothing.

I reached for my cigs. Not even an empty box.

I reached for my DS. It was dead.

I ran for Mello, rounding corners and thudding doors, deep into the endless white

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Let me know how you're following along. Not-dead!L is kind of trippy. O.o All shall become clear... in due time. If any of you have pieced together my personal opinion of Light/Kira, you'll see where I'm going with this. :)**


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Hey everyone! I told you I would continue, and I kept my word. As soon as I found a spare moment I wrote! Considering I'm a second semester senior who has already been accepted into college, I'm surprisingly busy. :/ I've found that my nerdy instincts simply don't allow me to slack off as much as I would have liked... *sigh***

**Just so everyone knows, the rating will be going up soon. Not now... but soon. I've never had an M rated story before, and I'm a little nervous... or a lot. Just letting you all know in advance!**

**Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!**

* * *

For all my genius, I couldn't find Mello. The hallway stretched on and on. Turns, twists, dead-ends and kitchenette after kitchenette. The only things breaking the monotony of naked, blinding white walls, uniform doors, and fluffy, even carpeting were the splashes of colorful cake batter, the stacked, tinted tupperware, the glowing ovens, the bowls of multi-colored frosting, and the packages of food coloring. Dead or not, this had to be L's heaven: a path of complex purity marked only by cakes in multiple stages of production.

Follow the white light...

Mello wasn't behind any door I ripped open or any kitchenette I passed.

Could he have escaped?

It would have been easy enough, the front door didn't seem to lock from the outside, and even if it did, he could always climb out a window: tall, mysterious building or not, a wall was only a wall, and Mello could find a way down.

I could picture it now... Mello crouching on an open windowsill, his hair fluttering, singed tips whipping his clenched, square jaw, his raw, scarred cheek, his crystal, calculating eyes. He grips the window sill with polished, calloused fingers, and leans out the window, muscles rolling under tight leather, curling and coiling like a cat about to spring. He calculates his maneuvers, he thrills at his escape, he curses the title of L, he forgets Matt, and he springs... leaving me... _leaving me_.

My heart thumped up into my throat and I ran fast, fast, thumping, banging, listening, searching. Sealed windows and empty rooms. Mello, Mello, Mello...

"MELLO!"

"Matt?" His voice! I'm not too late! It sounded so close... just a bit farther... left I think?

_Whoa_.

Mello lay sprawled on an ivory leather couch. He was the center of the room, the black knight against sprawling white. White couch, white chairs, white table, white drawers and doors and curtains pulled closed.

It was a pure world: comfortable and clean.

"Stop smiling like an idiot and sit down." He nodded toward a plush chair.

"So... so you're staying?"

"What choice do we have? If we leave, we die, now sit the fuck down and tell me what happened after I left."

The blackmail... I had completely forgotten. He was stuck with me. I leapt onto the chair, and the air escaped with a sharp hiss. The cushion nearly swallowed me whole, and I glanced at Mello, struggling to right myself, a light chuckle itching in my throat, but Mello was humorless. His body was draped over the couch - a still and languid blanket - and his face was tight, hard, and vacant. Only his jaw moved, rolling and stretching, sealing thin lips then pulling them imperceptibly apart, as if he were nursing a tiny, invisible chocolate bar.

"Well." His voice was steady... too steady, and far too thin. His rage, denial, and anguish were bottled deep within, boiling under his skin, fighting to burst from his struggling lips.

"I..." my heart slowed and my skin pricked. "L was... ah... I mean... Lawliet. He asked us to call him Lawliet."

Mello's teeth clenched. "So he didn't carry his name to the grave after all."

"He was bleeding so I helped him, then we had cake and- there is a _lot_ of cake Mello, it's everywhere!"

"Don't care. Go on."

"He's still trying to catch Kira, Mello, and he wants our help."

Mello sneered. "It's been years since he _died_. Why the hell hasn't he caught him?"

"It's complicated... he doesn't want to catch Light Yagami-"

"So he knew that too."

"-he wants us to separate him from Kira."

"Separate him from..." Mello's eyes clouded and his lips stilled. "Separate _Light_ from _Kira_." He bolted upright. "Separate _Kira_ from Kira_._ Matt, this is insane... _He's_ insane." He sprung from the couch and dashed about the room, going everywhere and going nowhere. He scrambled at the walls, he struggled with the drawers and doors, he ripped off cushions.

"Um... Mello..."

"We have to get out of here." Three quick strides and he was on me, hands clutching my shoulders, violent breath rushing down onto my face. "Come with me."

"I- I... Mello we can't!"

Mello's eye's narrowed dangerously. "_What?_"

"N-no," I tried to shrink back, but his fingers dug into my shoulders, anchoring me in place. "I-it's just that if we leave... L would give our names away."

"He wouldn't."

"You can't _know_ that!" I shoved him away, and his eyes widened in surprise. "You said so yourself... he's insane! If we can't trust him enough to stay here, how can we trust him not to betray us? I... I won't let you lead us into our graves out of... thickheaded, narrow-minded rage and _arrogance_!"

My heart pounded in my chest, propelling burning adrenaline through my veins, body, and mind, down to the twitching tips of my fingers and my stiff, curled toes.

Mello's hands twitched and curled into fists and I flinched away, squeezing my eyes shut and anticipating the beating I knew I deserved. I had defied him. I had insulted him. I was wrong. I shouldn't have said anything. I promised to follow him into death, and I will! I will, I will, I will, and _why isn't he hitting me_?

I cautiously opened my eyes to find Mello, hands and muscles slack, gazing at me with the most unbearably shocking and confusing expression he could have conjured. Instead of furious fire, his eyes were wide, unguarded, pools of soft, gentle crystal. Instead of twisting into a grimace, his mouth was graced by a soft, simple, genuine smile. He was the opposite of murderous. He was... peaceful, with a spark of amusement in the corner of his eye.

"W-wha-?" That was about all my brilliant mind could conjure.

Then... Mello did something even more curious... he laughed. It was small, it was brief, it was enough to challenge everything I believed Mello had become.

"I realized that you were back, the old you," he responded to my bewildered stare. "I didn't realize how much I'd missed you... the only brilliant bastard that dares to challenge me."

So _I_ had changed?

"And," he continued, "I realized that we were alive. We should be dead right now and we're alive." He gripped my hand, and I gasped at the unexpected contact. His gaze turned serious. "We're not leaving and we're not dying."

The unnerving feeling of deja vu washed over me. Mello's eyes were mere inches from my own. They were transparent, disturbingly innocent, oddly protective... this was the old Mello, not just a glimpse of him. He was finally standing here before me. His breath - sweet, subtle chocolate, and the rich, ineffable scent of Mello himself - washed over my face as his lips drew closer to mine. As we joined in a searing kiss, I distantly registered that there was one thing that _had_ permanently changed between us, and I couldn't have been more grateful.

He pulled away, smirking as I stumbled after him, unwilling to let him go. In his face was smug amusement, without a trace of tortured self-loathing to be found.

"Enough of that," Mello said flippantly, as he jumped back onto the white sofa. "What the fuck are we going to do?"

We talked, brainstormed, and argued for hours, but no matter how we examined the situation, there was only one solution, one that neither of us were particularly keen on.

"God damn it, Matt! I can't do it!"

"Mello," I groaned, throwing my head against the back of my chair.

"If we work with him, we're working with Kira."

"You don't know that..." I drawled for what felt like the fiftieth time.

"But we could be! We'd be murdering people to save ourselves."

"You've killed people _plenty_ of times."

"This is different."

"What choice do we have?"

"We don't!" Mello pounded his fist into the nearest cushion.

"Then we have to!"

"Fine!" Mello exploded. "But listen to me carefully, alright? We are _not_ working with L and we're _not_ working with Kira. We're going to let L believe that he's using us so that we can use _him_." Use him? Mello sighed at my vacant expression. "We're going to catch Kira. We're not going to try to _separate _Kira from Light. We're going to catch him and _kill_ him."

A devious grin slithered onto my face, perfectly mirroring Mello's. "So we pretend to help L, so we can use his information to kill Kira. We're taking justice into our own hands."

"Yes. Kira and L are bending the rules, so why can't we?"

Regardless of the raw scar tainting Mello's cheeks or of the faded scars littering my own wrists, regardless of the unshakable sensation of narrowly averted death or of the lingering feeling of his lips on my own, we were young boys again, partners in crime. I may still trail behind him, but I am no longer beneath him.

Despite the complications of the case, the imminent game of deadly deceit, the blood that would soon taint my hands as well as his, I felt whole and blessedly content.

"Let's go." Mello sprung up with newfound deliberation and burst from the artificial, white room. He didn't glance behind him; he did not have to. He knew I would always be right behind him.

We found L in what appeared to be a common room. Neat bookcases framed the walls and two blindingly white couches framed a shining glass coffee table. L was crouched before the table, clutching a worn rag and a spray bottle. He worked on the glass in the same small spot - squirting then scrubbing, squirting then scrubbing - before moving a fraction of an inch over to a new, equally gleaming spot. Every so often he would pause to tug at the cuff on his wrist and rub the raw skin beneath it. Had L always been so neurotic?

"L," Mello spoke firmly. I could hardly detect the uncertain waver in his voice. L did not alter his rhythm or give any indication that he had heard. Mello huffed and crossed his arms. "_Lawliet_," he bit out.

At that, L's head slowly rose, though his hands did not still. He made no move to speak.

"Matt and I will offer our assistance in capturing Kira... _without_ sacrificing Light Yagami."

L nodded slowly. "That is the plan."

Mello tensed and I glanced at him warily; it wouldn't be wise to antagonize L any further. "I need chocolate, Matt needs games and cigs, and we both need clothing and real food. Those are our terms."

"You will find provisions in your bedroom - take a left, second right, first door on the left - although I was unaware that Matt smoked. It is unhealthy."

"He needs his cigs," Mello persisted, although I knew that he himself was unhappy with my self-destructive habit.

"I will acquire them by tomorrow." L was still working on the same spot.

Mello nodded tersely. "When will you tell us the details of our duties?"

"I am grateful that you have chosen to ally with me, though I do detect your reservations." The rag stilled. "If it helps, I will do my best to assure you that I am still on the side of justice. I am still justice."

"I know," Mello mumbled unconvincingly.

L continued his motions. Scrubbing and squirting, tugging and rubbing. "There are two laptops in your room. I set up an email account for you to share: 'm' dash 'm' at comcast dot net. Password: justice3. I am in correspondence with Light, and I have given him your email. I have identified you both as one person. You are my 'close friend and accomplice.' You will gain his trust and discover what you can about the nature of Kira. Your name is M and you will assist him in his endeavors as Kira. I assure you it is for the greater good."

Mello and I stared at him in shock. L was thorough and diligent, which was certainly to be expected, but I couldn't shake the notion that Mello and I were no longer active players in this game, but mere pawns with delusions of free will.

"We'll be going, then." A glare had replaced Mello's calm neutrality as his composure slowly slipped away.

"Wait," I grabbed Mello's wrist and turned to L, bursting with curiosity. "That table looks clean enough. This whole _place_ is spotless. Why don't you stop?" Mello shot me a chastising look but said nothing. He was probably just as eager for L's answer as I.

"I am waiting for new information to come in. I clean while I wait. This is my world and my world will be clean."

Mello and I exchanged an alarmed glance. L truly _had_ gone off the deep end. He seemed... broken, and dangerously unstable.

"O-oh." I mumbled in response, before Mello tugged me away. We set off down the hallways of uniform white, hurtling toward a future that slipped further and further from our control


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Hey everyone! So, my senior year of high school is winding down, and instead of being productive or sleeping, I've been reading manga, watching anime, playing pokemon yellow (yes, you read that right) and writing fanfiction. ^.^**

**This chapter is kind of a big deal for me. If you'll notice, I changed the rating to M. Yup. This is my first citrus-flavored chapter EVER!**

* * *

Our bedroom wasn't white, and for that I was grateful. The room was plain and small, with a warm tan color scheme. It was clearly meant to serve both as our living quarters and as our private workspace. The room was set up like a dormitory, outfitted with two double beds, two dressers, two desks with a laptop on each, one closet (in which we found plenty of clothing eerily similar to our wardrobes at home), one small television, and a connecting bathroom. Save for the wide windows and balcony beyond, the room was reminiscent of our room at Wammy's. It was both comforting and disconcerting.

Upon entering, Mello had promptly flung himself onto the bed nearest to the door, and there he lay, staking his claim with no discussion and no questions asked.

I wandered over to the desks and brushed my fingers over a sleek new Apple laptop. Honestly, what does L expect me to be able to accomplish with a freaking Apple? Still... I could check our new email... I wonder if Yagami has emailed us yet...

"No." I jumped and whipped around. Mello was sitting on his bed, eyes fixed on the laptop I was clutching. "Put it down. We're not checking the damn email tonight."

"Why not?"

"I'm tired. Need to think. Yagami can fucking _wait_." He fell back to the bed and knotted his hair in fists.

...Alright then. I crept to the other bed and sat tentatively on the edge. It felt soft enough. It was certainly more comfortable than crashing on a couch. I glanced at the clock. It was only just after eight. I wasn't nearly tired enough to go to bed, my DS was dead, my cigs were gone, and Mello didn't look like he'd tolerate my clambering about to find those games that L had alluded to. I sighed and followed Mello's example, flopping back onto my bed and fixing a blank gaze on the ceiling. I _did_ have a lot to mull over; however, unlike Mello, I didn't _want_ to frustrate myself analyzing and brooding over what appeared to be a hopeless situation.

If I were to let worries, doubts, regrets, and painful memories flood my mind, I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle the anxiety. For the first time, my worries weren't entirely focused on Mello: I was also scared for _my own_ life. The demise of Kira and Light Yagami was directly correlated with my own fate. My existence didn't hinge only on Mello, but on the entire case itself.

"Are we going to die?" I hadn't meant to voice my thoughts, but the question hung in the air, thick and tangible. Had Mello heard?

"How the fuck should I know?" Mello had heard.

"Sorry," I muttered at the ceiling.

I heard Mello stir in the bed next to mine. "We should be dead now anyway."

"But we're not... We're alive, and I don't want to die." _Die_... the mere feeling of the word on my lips made my skin crawl and my stomach twist. "I _really_ don't want to die." This was a revelation - this fresh, unique desperation. It wasn't simply that I didn't want to die without a purpose, or that I didn't want to die without Mello standing by my side, leading us both into a reckless yet unmistakably noble and passionate doom. No. I simply, fervently needed to live.

"Then you won't die." He spoke with such assurance that I was torn between thanking him and hitting him.

"We _were_ going to die, Mello!" I sat up and turned to glare at him only to find him perched on the edge of his bed, glaring down at _me_. "I didn't want to die then, but _you_ planned out a suicide mission!"

"You didn't have to follow me!"

"Yes I did! I needed to!"

"No you fucking didn't! I gave you a choice!"

"I _never_ had a choice, Mello. I wanted... _needed_... to die for you!"

"So you _did_ want to die, bastard!"

"No!" I leapt up and crossed the room with a short, swift step. "Listen to me!" I balled my fists and glared down at him, completely uncertain what to _do_ with myself. I was bursting with rage and frustration. "I-it's different! I was going to die for you. For _you_! That was my purpose! That was what I wanted! And now I can't, because we're going to die here! We're trapped. Trapped!" I flung my hands into the air, and my throat threatened to cave around my short, hard gasps. "He could give away our names at any moment. We'll die like birds in a cage. I want to live!"

"You idiot," Mello bit out. His body was rigged and still, but his eyes flickered and thrashed with fury. "You want to die for me. All of this time, I've been trying to _protect_ you and you've been _trying_ to die."

"For you!"

"It doesn't matter!" He jumped up and gripped my jaw with powerful, painful fingers. He snapped my head up and drilled his eyes down into mine. "I don't _want_ you to die for me. Why..." His eyes flicked away in a moment of indecision before returning with doubled intensity. "Why can't you just... _live_ for me, you selfish bastard?"

"Mello..." I deflated.

"Look," he released my jaw and dropped back to the bed. He swiveled his head away and drilled his eyes into the wall. I wasn't certain whether his flushed cheeks were the result of his fury or his embarrassment. "Can't we just focus on what's happening now? Everything's changed..."

"Yeah... I guess so." I returned to my bed, grateful that he hadn't stormed away like he had so often before. "Before we left the apartment this morning," I ventured. Was it really just this morning? "you said that you wanted to defeat Kira primarily to avenge L."

"What of it?"

"So, what now? That's what we really need to figure out, isn't it? Why are we doing this?"

Mello tilted back his head and gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully. "Kira has put me through Hell. He ruined my childhood, he gave me this," his hand brushed his scarred cheek, "and he killed L."

"But L is-"

"That _thing_ isn't L. Maybe he used to be... but L is gone. And without Kira, I would have never hurt you, and I wouldn't have failed at protecting you." He glanced over at me warily. "It's no excuse but it's the truth. And if I don't bring him down, it all would have been for nothing."

"You didn't fail at protecting me."

"Matt, you've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I put _myself_ in danger because I wanted to follow you. And now, we're both stuck in this situation together, and it's no one's fault." Mello open his mouth to retort. "Except fucking Yagami, I guess," I amended. He snapped it shut and granted me a stiff nod. I smiled. That was the closest Mello would ever come to properly relenting. "And Mello?" He pointedly met my gaze. "You can't exactly put me in any more danger. You don't have any more stake in this than I, you don't have any more information than I, and you're as good as dead to the mafia... so..."

"So what?" His face was completely blank.

I gathered all the courage I could muster and desperately fought away the crippling fear rising in my chest and the blood rushing to my cheeks as I dashed across the space between our beds. I stood before him for a brief moment, ensuring that no sign of fury had graced his features. I grabbed his shoulders and planted a swift, chaste, clumsy kiss on his unsuspecting lips before scurrying back to my bed, lips and cheeks burning, heartbeat erratic.

This was the first time _I_ had kissed _him_. But surely things had changed. Surely we could be together now. Hadn't he kissed me earlier today? With a fiery passion that simply put my timid peck to shame? I peered up at him through my bangs. He was smirking. Mello wasn't angry. He wasn't pained. He wasn't even flustered or confused. He was simply staring at me smugly... smirking.

I couldn't help but feel a tad offended.

"You're right." I'm right? Right about what? What were we talking about? "You want me." I flushed a deeper shade of red. "And I want you." Would I pass out if too much blood rushed into my face? He rose from his bed and nonchalantly strutted - yes _strutted_ - the two steps to my bed. "There's nothing to stop us." He leered down at me, smirk permanently in place. "And _this_ is how you fucking kiss." He grasped my shoulders and shoved me into the bed, following with his entire body. He crept over me, knees straddling my waist, palms pressing into my shoulders, lips hovering inches above mine.

He kissed me, and my heart couldn't decide whether to barrel out of my chest or to simply freeze from shock and exertion. He was violent, passionate, and tender all at once. He ravished my mouth greedily, gratefully, as if I were granting him a privilege just by allowing him to kiss me... to press his tongue against my own, and to drag his teeth against my tongue, against my lip; to suck, to nip, to tease and to fill every corner of my mouth; to give me a greater high than any cigaret, than any game, than any sports car purring under my fingertips.

Now I had Mello at my fingertips, and I felt as if I were about to die from elation.

After recovering from the initial shock of feeling Mello's passion all around me and inside of me, I pressed against him eagerly. I tilted my head until our lips and mouths matched perfectly. We sunk deeper inside each other. I pressed my hands into his chest, feeling the tight leather stretching over his taut, heaving chest, sliding my hands over the sweaty, smooth skin of his upper chest, his flexed biceps, his exposed lower stomach. I needed more. More skin, more of him... My lips and tongue slowed as I fumbled with his vest... the zipper... the damn... stuck... fucking... zipper.

Mello pulled away with a chuckle, and I almost whined in protest... almost. He pulled himself up to kneel on the bed, and I followed, still clutching the fucking zipper. Mello ripped my hands away and deftly unzipped his damn leather vest.

I had never before been granted the privilege of ogling Mello's bare chest and abs completely and shamelessly. He was magnificent. His lean, sculpted muscles, his creamy, hairless skin... and _yes_ his muscles were hard and firm everywhere, and _yes_ that was a six-pack, _yes_ that skin was soft and smooth, and _yes_ he felt marvelous against my lips, against my tongue...

I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. No idea. All I knew was that I wanted to lick him, suck him, feel him. I wanted to run my tongue along the lines of his abs, I wanted to slide my hands down his chest, down his abs, and _oh_ how I wanted to grasp his nipple between my lips and my teeth and make him moan.

I had no idea what I was doing, but apparently I was doing it right, because Mello was eliciting tiny gasps and strangled moans, his chest was heaving, and his skin was salty and hot.

He knitted his fingers in my hair and yanked me up. I only caught a glimpse of his flushed cheeks and fierce, lustful eyes before he invaded my mouth with his tongue once more.

"Sh-shit, Matt," he breathed hotly against my lips. "Didn't know you... had it in you."

Without any warning, his hand dove into my pants. I gasped as he roughly grasped me through my boxers and _squeezed_. And God it hurt, but... his hand, and that sweet, _sweet_ pressure...

"You're hard," he growled into my open, gasping mouth.

"Y-y-y-yeah." I felt his grin against my lips.

His hand pulled away, but only long enough for him to slide it tantalizingly down my stomach and into my boxers before he fully wrapped his fingers around my bare cock.

A low moan ripped through me, and I tossed my head back. He slowly tightened his grip. I grabbed at his biceps, sputtering.

His tongue glided over the shell of my ear as he began to pump, slowly... so slowly... too slowly...

"M-m-m-mel..." I desperately pushed into his hand, biting back a moan.

"What's wrong Matty?" His husky voice filled my ear with steam.

No.. no... can't say anything... so embarrassing... can't think...

His hand suddenly stopped, and an undignified whimper escaped my lips.

"What do you want, Matty?" He took my earlobe between his teeth and bit hard.

"Y-you know..." I flushed

"What do you want?" His tongue trailed my jawline... down my neck.

"I... I... I..." He dug his teeth into my neck and gave a single, swift pump. "Oh God! More! Faster! Please!"

"That's more like it," he growled into my neck.

He gripped me and pumped so hard I saw stars.

Just as the heat was pooling, building, burning... he pulled his hand away and shoved me back onto the bed.

"Ah.. ah! Mello! Wh-why?" My dignity was long gone.

Instead of answering, he wrestled with my pants, pulling them off and away, leaving me totally exposed.

I couldn't help but squirm under his fierce, focused eyes, trained on my fully erect, pitifully average penis.

I flushed, and he grinned, straddling me like a mighty panther over its prey. His leather-bound crotch hovered inches above mine. I could see the outline of his dick and balls pressing against the leather.

That must hurt.

I winced in sympathy, and stretched my arms and fingers to wrestle with the complex strings bounding his crotch. Mello quirked an eyebrow, as if to question why I was even _trying_ to master the laces caging his penis. He tossed my hands aside, and with a few deft maneuvers, the strings were defeated. Save for the rosary beads hanging from his neck, Mello was entirely bare. My neglected cock twitched at the very sight of him.

And then we collided. Our skin, teeth, and tongues crashed and slid and rubbed and licked as our bare crotches humped and rubbed frantically. Every shred of embarrassment and uncertainty was pushed away as we rubbed and thrusted and panted, craving friction, sweat, release...

"Ah.. a-ah... M-mel..."

"C'mere," he growled, grabbing my shirt and yanking me up until we knelt before each other once more.

"W-wha-"

With one hand he ripped off my goggles, exposing me to the overwhelming focus of a world without an orange tint, and with the other he grasped our dicks in one painful, wonderfully tight fist and pumped us together.

I brought my hand down to meet his, and our fingers entwined around throbbing, aching flesh, now slick with sweat and pre-cum.

Our foreheads were pressed against each other, sharing the burden of balance, and our eyes were locked.

I felt his hand, his dick, his body... the building, burning pressure. I saw only his eyes, and his eyes saw only me. Our entire world was contained within ourselves in that moment, shared equally between us, as our bodies worked as one, pumping, panting, balancing, staring. The center of the world lay between our intense, lustful, shared gaze.

Our breathing hitched and our bodies curled. I didn't have to beg him to move faster, faster, faster: we did together.

Blackness hazed the edges of my vision as I finally found release, and Mello finished soon thereafter. As my own penis fell limp, he painted my stomach with his cum.

Mello was the first to break away.

He leapt off the bed glided toward the bathroom, skin glowing, hair mussed, expression unreadable.

I slumped and lay still, my mind pleasantly and peacefully vacant, my body warm and relaxed. Slowly, but surely, my mind began to turn and click once more. Despite my comfort, lying alone felt wrong... so wrong. Did I do something wrong?

The sounds of running water, soft panting, and muted shuffling hummed over what was swiftly transforming into a disturbingly uncomfortable silence. Why wasn't he talking to me? My hands brushed my stomach and I blushed at the warm, sticky sensation. Cum really is disgusting.

"Here." I jumped as something warm and sopping collided with my head... a wet towel? I glanced up at Mello imploringly. "Clean up, stupid." I flushed and wiped away the sweat and cum. As soon as I was clean, I scrambled to find and pull on my pants, illogically embarrassed to be seen so bare.

Mello, of course, was completely content to sit sprawled on his bed completely and beautifully naked.

"Matt?" His voice was timid, almost childish. My God, how this man confused me.

"Hm?" I struggled out of my soiled shirt.

"I'm sorry." _What!_ "I didn't mean to take it that far, and I know I never asked you... so if you didn't want-"

"No!" I burst. He raised a brow. I flushed and clamped down on my lip. "I mean..." I began again, a bit more calmly. "That was just... what I've always _always_ wanted. And- and you should _know_ that...so don't apologize!"

"Well... good. I'm not sorry." Mello nodded to himself resolutely as signature smirk shattered his previously serious gait. "I _knew_ you wanted me. Your fucking sexy when you beg, you know that?" He flashed his teeth. I choked on air. "I'm hungry. Go get me chocolate."

"S-sure!"

I dashed out the door... then back in to pull on a shirt (I was pleased to find that L had found an array of striped shirts nearly identical to my own) then back out again, thoroughly mortified and positively elated.

I had never felt so alive, and even as I pawed through the third kitchenette, hunting for Mello's chocolate, I had never felt more equal to my life-long best friend (and lover?). After all, fetching chocolate for Mello wasn't just something his subordinates did for him. It was a constant of our relationship.

Found it. I grabbed six bars, hoping that would last him the night, and an apple from the counter for myself.

Just as I was turning the corner to head back to our room, a soft thud and a shuffle caught my attention. It's coming from the kitchen.

"Don't be angry with me." It was L.

"I told you to give them to me." A softer voice. Sweeter. It sounded so familiar... why are chills running up my spine?

I crouched behind against the wall and hugged the candy bars to my chest, careful not to make them crinkle.

"I don't want you to kill them." My eyes widened. "They can help us."

"They can help _me_," the other man corrected, his voice colder than before. "Look," he sighed, "we'll talk about this later, Lawliet. I need to leave. Give me my pants." His pants?

Shuffling.

"Would you like some cake before you leave?"

"You know I don't eat sweets. Why do you always ask me?"

"Maybe one day you'll change your mind."

"I'll never change my mind, Lawliet." Silence. Metal scraping ceramic. "I really need to leave now anyway," the voice continued.

"Is _she_ waiting for you?"

"Yes, Lawliet. _Misa_ is waiting for me." Misa. Misa? Misa! This couldn't mean... it couldn't be... I knew I'd heard the voice before than but-"

"I'll see you in two nights?"

"Yes."

Light Yagami walked out of the kitchen, combing his wet, disheveled hair, walked down the hallway, away from me, and turned the corner.

I stumbled to my feet and dashed back to Mello

* * *

**AN: So... WHAT DID YOU THINK. Like Matt, I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, but hopefully it turned out ok? Was it hot or did it make you facepalm? .**

**Thanks for reading~**


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